


A Man and A Girl.

by TheSweetestThing



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Budding Romance, F/M, Killing for true love because nothing says it better
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-06
Updated: 2014-02-09
Packaged: 2017-12-22 15:02:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 14
Words: 28,413
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/914630
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheSweetestThing/pseuds/TheSweetestThing
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Arya accepts a man's offer to leave with him after escaping Harrenhal.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

 

The cloak was crimson red, like the blood that had poured from the man he had slain hours earlier, and the guard she herself had murdered in their escape. The swishing tail of fabric dangled back and forth in front of her as she stumbled along after him. Aching feet tripping over stones, sweat dripping down the nape of her neck and her eyes itching with tiredness. Her mouth was dry and her lips cracked, her stomach rumbling emptily. She was sweaty, tired and hungry but curiosity sated her needs.

Most of them.

“I don’t like your new face.” Arya Stark complained, brushing dry hair out of her eyes with a huff.

To Jaqen’s annoyance she had insisted on sneaking back into Harrenhal to say goodbye to Hot Pie and Gendry, invisible in the dark with a whispered explanation quick on her lips and a hug for good luck in the dead of night. She tried to ignore their incredulous expressions as she turned to go.

“You’re going with him?” Hot Pie had paled as he'd held out a bundle of pies and soft bread she'd asked for before springing the surprise news. “B-but he’s dangerous Arry.” The whites of his eyes were clearly visible.

Arya had nodded and filched the bag before he changed his mind about helping her. “He can teach me a lot of things.”

“Like how to murder people.” Gendry said flatly, dark eyes unhappy, mouth twisted in anger.

“How to survive.” Arya said, jaw locked.

How to get revenge.

_Dunsen, Polliver, Raff the Sweetling, The Tickler and The Hound. Ser Gregor, Ser Amory, Ser Ilyn, Ser Meryn, King Joffrey, Queen Cersei._

Then she left, creeping around corners before killing a guard and sprinting to the shadows where a waiting Jaqen H’ghar stood by the castle, idly running an old iron coin along his knuckles.

“You’ll get used to it.” The man in front of her turned, his cloak flapping around and breaking her exhausted reverie.

His hair was black and curly, no red and white in sight. It blew in the slight breeze, and those unfamiliar sweeping eyebrows furrowed as he watched her closely. She wondered briefly where the scar on his cheek had come from and opened her mouth to ask before stopping. Was it even his scar? Was this his real face, or was it the face before that she knew him as? Which face was Jaqen? _Was Jaqen even his real name?_

His gold tooth glittered as he smiled amused and she found herself staring at it.

“You don’t even talk the same.” She mumbled the first uncomplicated thought that popped into her head. She was sad to see his strange manner of talking had gone, that alone had set him apart from anyone else she had ever known. That, and his willingness to kill anyone for her.

“Jaqen is dead, as I told you earlier.”

Arya paused on top of the ledge they had approached contemplatively, staring at the landscape before her and never looking back, for only bad things remained there. Whimsical memories of her childhood were slowly fading away, the path behind her as dark and gloomy as the prison she had escaped. 

The forest ahead of her was starting to look alive in first light, the early morning dawn making everything clearer. She took a deep breath savouring the light breeze fluttering across her face, caressing her lips. The countryside was nothing like Winterfell but it soothed her the same, the crisp autumn air reviving her as she stood on that cliffside. 

With a flourish the man who was not-now-Jaqen held out a hand to help her down. With a glower she ignored the hand and jumped, landing with a huff and scraping her hands.

They walked for hours, passing fields of destroyed crops stinking of burnt farmers, the corpses pinned up in a crude mockery of scarecrows. Jaqen had tutted at that and muttered something unheard. Arya had watched a worm flounder out of an eyeball. 

They stopped to make water in a patch of bushes, Arya squatting down and suddenly realising with childish recognisation that  Jaqen was making water now too-

She was startled by the thought and even more disturbed, and she frowned as she laced up her breeches and tried to avoid watching the back of the cloak through the trees. 

At one point in their journey  Arya broke into the bread, passing it back and forth with her companion, their fingers brushing more than once. Arya recalled the time Jaqen with Jaqen's face had woken her in the night. His hand was strong and smooth and warm then, unyielding as a stone. These fingers were different, an old silver scar or two that created bump on the rough and calloused skin. Hands that recognised hard work and paid the price. 

“So which is your real face?” She asked during their long walk. “Do you have a different name now too?” Perhaps he would answer this time as he didn’t before.

“You know me as Jaqen, so you can call me that if you wish.”

Arya glowered at him frustrated. “That’s not a real answer stupid. Can you ever be him again?” She kicked away a stone in her path.

“The dead are able to talk by certain ways.” He divulged, batting aside a tree branch as they walked in the cool shade of another forest, huge trees with thick trunks and leaves that rustled as they walked past.

“And you’re going to teach me those ways?” She queried, striding beside him and looking up eagerly.

“Yes you evil child.” A smile played on Jaqen’s lips,

“I’m not evil.” Arya grumbled under her breath, eyeing her path carefully for stray tree roots.

“But you’re not good.” He countered and Arya’s eyes flashed up to meet his in anger.

“I saved my Father’s men, men of the North-”

“Through evil tricks and a man’s name.”

“But you said the Red God wouldn’t mind.”

“The extra gifts will have delighted him have no doubt, but he is always looking for more, every second of every day.” He plucked an apple from a tree they passed and took a bite, pulling off a second to toss to her.

She sank her teeth into it gratefully, the fruit juicy and refreshing and making her decide she could go no further without rest. She sank to the floor, perching on an half rotted tree stump to devour her snack. Jaqen turned, retraced his last few steps through the bracken and sat down beside her.

“We cannot stop long if we wish to catch a ship.” He warned and Arya nodded. 

“Just a few minutes. It’s not far to Riverrun...we are going to Riverrun aren’t we?” Arya checked.

“I do not know of a place named Riverrun.” Her heart sank into her chest and she opened her mouth wordlessly, hand squeezing her apple tight.

“It’s near here. We can just make a quick stop, just so I can tell my Mother-”

“And how do you think your Mother would react hmm?” He shot her a knowing look. “You may write a letter when we reach Braavos.”

“Well how long will that take?”

“Patience sweet child.” He stroked her hair fondly, and she took another bite of the ripe apple.

“Why do we have to go to Braavos? Can’t you teach me how to kill here?”

“There is a great deal more to killing than a sword thrust into a heart.” Jaqen leant back against a tree, legs crossed in a brief moment of relaxation. He still had on the uniform from Harrenhal, Arya still the ragged clothes and Arya wondered if anyone would even notice they were missing amongst the chaos of Weasel Soup. 

She picked at her grime filled fingernails, bit at the short and spiky hangnail and debated whether to tell him there wasn't a great deal more to killing than entering a tiny sword named Needle into the belly. 

“I’ve killed before.” Arya said quietly in the silence and Jaqen arched one eyebrow. “I didn’t mean to.” She said quickly, eyes flitting up to meet his. “Not- not the first time.” The guard she had killed hours before had to die, and the stable boy, he was just an honest accident. “He had hold of me and I just... stabbed him with the pointy end.”

Jaqen let out a quick burst of laughter and Arya felt a burning deep in her belly as her lips turned up.

Jaqen tossed the apple core aside and stared at her intently. “When we get to Braavos you may stab a man as many times you like with the pointy end, and see how quickly you are captured. To be a Faceless Man, to kill the many names on your list you must be careful and quiet. Even a blind man sees everything if they pay attention to the little mouse scurrying in the corner.”

“I am not a mouse, not anymore. I am a wolf.” Arya declared and she stood up and stared up at him with those soulful eyes he could not refuse before they continued.  

They made camp as night set,  Jaqen creating a fire while Arya rifled through the meagre supply of food. Two bread buns and a small squishy piece of cheese Arya poked doubtfully. A few pies with the crust crumbling, three strawberry tarts with the filling slopping out. No water. 

"A man can get water." Jaqen said and she smiled at him brilliantly. 

"You talked like the old Jaqen." He didn't deny it, grabbing the old bucket beside her. "I heard you." 

"Sometimes some personality traits stick with the face." He told her as he walked to the bank of the river they stopped near. She heard him splashing around with the bucket he stole from a farmhouse earlier.  

She had stared at him when she saw the dying man in the bed, the flies buzzing and landing on her skin, hot in the heat as he drew his knife.  

"The gift of mercy is the best gift a man can offer." He had told her, slitting the mans throat and stealing the bucket with a riddle. "Is it stealing when No One is there to see?" 

Arya had frowned confused about the answer he wanted but Jaqen had merely smiled and said she had a lot to learn when they reached Braavos.

Arya put the strawberry tarts aside, divvying up the piece of cheese into equal pieces and breaking the bread buns in half. When Jaqen returned he brought the water to boil and let her sip from it in tiny measures. 

"We'll need more food." She had finished her bread with a hollow pit still in her stomach, and looked at him then. "Can you kill rabbits?" 

He laughed and pushed his portion of bread over to her. "I can kill all sorts of creatures Arya Stark."

When the meal was eaten they prepared to sleep, Arya wishing she had Needle. She missed the slim sword more than ever, and she curled in on herself muttering her list. 

_Dunsen, Raff the Sweetling, The Tickler and The Hound. Ser Gregor, Ser Amory, Ser Ilyn, Ser Meryn, King Joffery, Queen Cersei._

She stared at the dimming fire, the orange and red flames dancing and crackling. They warmed her, made her remember the hot halls of Winterfell that were warm even when snow raged outside. The sparks made her recall Gendry and his work and she felt a pang of guilt. _Gendry will be fine, and Hot Pie too. They were happy there. It is I who did not fit in._ She shuffled closer, straining for every inch of heat the fire provided. The flames illuminated the changes in Jaqen's eyes, who spied her looking and smiled, a smile full of comfort.

"A lovely girl needn't be scared." He reassured her. "I can kill any who dares approach before you even stir." 

"I'm not scared," She told him, voice barely a whisper in the night. "You made me brave again." 

“And I will make you braver still.” He promised, and Arya smiled in anticipation before closing her eyes. 

 


	2. Chapter 2

They had been walking for almost a week now, and as the days dragged on Arya found herself growing more and more disheartened. If only they’d stolen two horses so her blisters didn’t hurt so much; Jaqen had much longer legs then her and half the time he didn’t realise he was walking fast.

She meandered some steps behind him chewing the flower she’d picked earlier, lazily twirling the stem between her teeth. She was pretty filthy by now, but she knew they must be approaching the Trident soon after passing all the tiny off shoots of streams. She could finally bathe then, strip off her dirty smelly clothes. Looking back on it there was no wonder why Jaqen walked so far ahead.

Arya scratched her hair, swallowed the last of the flower and threw the limp stem away. The aftertaste of the flower turned her mouth liquorice and she savoured the taste for a few minutes. She wasn’t scared when she was with Jaqen, didn’t need to worry anybody would harm her if they did find them. She longed for her Mother but shoved that to the back of her mind. When she came back from Braavos she could protect her and Robb; she would be better than any man with Jaqen teaching her.

So, with no thoughts of looming capture preying on her mind she was to put it simply... bored.

“I’m bored.”

Her companion looked behind him and waited patiently for her to catch up. He was never out of breath, never tired or ill at ease. He had a cool but affable quality about him that the other sly Jaqen never had.

“Then tell your friend a story.”

“About what?” Arya said dubiously.

She wasn’t like Sansa, memorising all the stories of stupid gallant knights and pathetic dewy-eyed maidens Old Nan told her. She remembered ones about the children of the forest but they were silly children’s tales. In fact all of those stories Old Nan told her were stupid and something for little girls and boys to believe in, not a wolf like her.

“Arya Stark. What does a girl enjoy apart from Weasel Soup?”

Arya shot him a dark look; was he always going to bring that up?

“I unsaid your name.” She reminded him.

“A name that would not have been said by any other.” Arya shrugged unconcerned and Jaqen chuckled under his breath. “So your story? Forgive me, you do not seem the type to enjoy sewing and poetry.”

She crinkled her nose. “No. I’ll tell you a story.” She promised and narrowed her eyes, holding his arm to drag him to a stop. “If you tell me something about you.”

“And who am I?” Jaqen asked.

“I don’t know.” Arya growled. “You were Jaqen my friend, but now you have a different face and won’t tell me if your real name is Jaqen or not.”

“You will learn in time what my real name is.” He told her. “But that time is not now, and it seems like a young lady has promised a story.”

“I’m not a lady I’m a girl, and I’m not saying anything unless you tell me something too.” She swung around and strode off, lurching across the uneven ground.

She heard his sharp exhale of breath seconds before he spoke. “Fine. You may ask one question.”

“About the real you?”

“I can barely remember the real me.” He told her and Arya stood for a moment unmoving.

“You must remember something.” She said finally. “You can’t forget everything that’s impossible.”

“Every impossible has a speck of possible hidden inside.” Jaqen told her and forced a smile upon his face. “So, Arya Stark of Winterfell..?”

She bit her lip searching for things to tell him, things he would understand not being from the North, things that didn’t seem too childish or not funny to people not there.

“One time when I was younger we all played a game.” She flushed when explaining. “But it was different because our parents played with us. Usually they let me and my brothers and sister play ourselves but they must have had good news from a noble lord or something because they joined in this time.”

She could recall it now, the heavy breathing and the feel of her Father’s hand around hers. They’d split into groups, her and Father with Jon, her Mother with Robb and Sansa and baby Bran which made Arya gleeful for Bran always made noise. They had crept along corridors on socked feet, trying to find the other group and win. An elaborate hide and seek which only got grander the following years when the children replicated the game with Rickon included.

They ended up in bizarre places, the furthest away stable from the castle, the rookery. Rickon once crawled onto a shelf in the library, and one time Bran managed to hide for four hours above the castle which soon became a habit. But this time was thrilling, for Father was with her and Jon and even when Mother agreed to play she didn’t shoot that look at her husband’s bastard.

Arya had practically leapt up the stairs, tiny feet ungraceful even then as she hurtled after the faint sounds of her sisters laughter. The dim burnished candle light made it hard to see, but was that a flash of auburn hair that disappeared around a corner?

“Mother!” Arya yelled, and her Mother graceful even after having four children slipped into the nearest door which led to one of numerous twisty staircases.

“It might be a trap.” Her Father told her. “You stay here and I’ll go capture the Cat.” He grinned and leapt after her Mother, but Jon and Arya were too excited to stay there.

They followed him up as he must have known they would, and nearly leapt out of their skins when Robb and Sansa cradling Bran jumped out of them from behind the tapestries lining the brick walls. They all had shrieked and laughed, laughed, laughed until even Bran gurgled. And when their Father kissed their Mother and whispered something that made her blush they all pulled a face and hastily departed.

Even now as she recalled the tale to Jaqen she could still feel the phantom itch of tension in her veins, the excitement that made her fingers tingle and her stomach roll. One hand in her Father’s and one in Jon’s linked together like always as they explored the darkness searching for family. Not now though, and Arya laughed at the memory even as her eyesight became blurry with tears she would never let fall. Jaqen smiled at the tale, even asked questions she rapidly answered with a happy flush on her cheeks. Bran was eight months old, she had another brother Rickon but he’d been born later.

They had walked another mile at this point but Arya found it hard to stop talking once she’d started. She opened her mouth again and naturally talked about the other dearest thing to her.

“I had a direwolf. Her name was Nymeria.” Arya’s heart ached at the memory of the big grey wolf.

Where was she now? The last time she had seen her in reality she had slunk off after being pelted with stones, but at night Arya ran with her across the lands. Part of a pack, swift on four feet and more deadly than a human... maybe not as deadly as Jaqen.

“I had to send her away or Joffery and Cersei would have had her killed like they did with Lady.” She spat and Jaqen looked at her with understanding. “Lady was my sister Sansa’s wolf. All my siblings had one. My brothers found them one day, their Mother had died so we brought them up as our own. Nymeria was huge, and scared everyone especially Septa Mordane, and she had lovely thick hair that she would never let me brush.” Arya let out a little laugh.

“Rather like you?” Jaqen queried, touching her mussed hair and Arya laughed even more.

“I don’t have a brush to comb it.” She tried to smooth it into a somewhat respectable shape before giving up.

They stopped to make water and rest awhile, Arya toying with the small dagger she stole from the guard she killed wishing it was Needle. Jaqen had a sword, she noted jealously. He didn’t even need one, she’d seen him kill dozens of people and only one with that sword. She sighed morosely, growing more spirited when she flipped the dagger and killed the rabbit hiding in the tangle of undergrowth. She picked berries while Jaqen made a fire and cooked it, large juicy blackberries that stained her hands purple. They took off again an hour later, gnawing at pieces of rabbit as they walked. It was greasy and tasty and Arya licked her lips ravenously as she tore at the meat, blackberries rolling in the threadbare pocket of her breeches.

“How did you make the dog eat Weese?” She asked in the relative silence, the only sounds of singing birds and chirping insects, the buzz of flies as they followed them. She waved them away with a scowl and looked at Jaqen.

“A simple trick.”

“Show me.”

“A simple trick when learned.” He rephrased. “You are impatient. When the time is right you will learn all I know.”

"Will it take long?” She wanted to kill her list quickly and make them suffer. Find a _lion_ to feast on Queen Cersei. That would frighten Joffery.

“A few years, but what talent does not require time?”

Arya occupied herself with thinking of the things she would learn while covering the rough terrain. She worried too, worried that her Mother and siblings wouldn't recognise her when she returned, but she would deal with that later, with Jaqen's help. When she got too hot and sweaty she stripped her footwear off and dangled them from her hands, wriggling her toes in the cool murky water of the stream. Jaqen was too straight-laced to join her but walked at her pace on the bank anyway, amused at her antics when she attempted to catch a bloated fish. She nearly ended up in the water more than once, and when she eventually tired and got out with Jaqen’s helping hand she didn’t notice the bleeding cuts on the flesh of her feet.

They poked around deserted villages they encountered, crumbling homes with nothing helpful inside. They rested for the night in a weathered stone house, the floor cold and scattered with straw. It was stinky, but there was an old mattress pushed to one corner Arya curled up on while Jaqen scoped out the other dwellings. Empty as expected, but he still laid at the entrance for a while. They feasted on stale pies and the last of the rabbit, finishing with warm water collected from the stream earlier.

“Sit.” Jaqen ordered as Arya stood up to tidy the food away.

She plonked back down without question and he ran long tapered fingers through her hair, sifting through the knots and tangles easily. He trickled cold water over her head and she shivered as it soaked her shirt, dripped down her clammy neck. The water made it easier to clean, easier to tidy. He soon had it somewhat straight if slightly damp and Arya put her hand up to feel it as he withdrew.

“Will that do a girl for now?” He asked, breath hot on her neck and Arya nodded, droplets flying everywhere.

“When we get to the mouth of the Trident I can have a proper wash. We can’t be too far.”

“A day or two.” Jaqen estimated with a vague twist of his mouth, brushing away a stray water drop on her forehead.

“Probably.” She found it amusing how he was the leader when she knew the land more. She smiled. “Have you been a lady in waiting before?” He laughed and flicked more water at her.

“Go to sleep weasel.” Childishly, she stuck her tongue out at him and flopped on the limp mattress.

She watched him tidy their small pathetic belongings; their food and water, his sword, a half-leaky bucket. He kept coins on him, she could hear the tiny clinking as he moved. He laid at the entrance to the house, long lean legs stretched out to the other side of the door, dark head turned to stare at the sky where a weak moon shimmered.

_Dunsen, Polliver, Raff the Sweetling, The Tickler and The Hound. Ser Gregor, Ser Amory, Ser Ilyn, Ser Meryn, King Joffrey, Queen Cersei._

Arya counted the stars until she lost count and grew annoyed, wondering if her siblings were looking at the same sky and counting the same. She became so trapped in her memories of Jon and Robb and Bran and Rickon and even Sansa she forgot about his side of the deal until later.

“Did you grow up on Braavos?” Arya asked, tongue curling in a yawn. “Are we going to your... home?”

“Yes.” Jaqen smiled softly, turning to look at her. “We are going to my home.”

He twisted back around to guard her in the night (she was sure he slept with one eye open) and she squirmed on the mattress, already able to smell better, hear better... She left the world of consciousness with a soft sigh and an answering wolf growl, and a man's lips twitched up in a fond smile as he stared at the night sky. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The plant Arya was eating at the beginning of the chapter was Fennel.


	3. Chapter 3

She stripped her clothes off furtively, eyes flicking to the back of a sleeping Jaqen. When she slid into the water she had to restrain a grateful groan, watching the water turn black around her from all the dirt she’d been carrying. She scrubbed until her skin was pink, the water around her running through her hands as she swished back and forth laughing with delight. She could stay here for hours, the sun warm on her back, her hair sopping wet and _clean._

She hadn’t had a proper bath in days, _weeks._ The early morning sun was shining brightly, and this part of the Trident was deserted from commoners or other travellers. She was quite isolated, alone in her small paradise except for a sleeping friend who was too far away to see anything if he woke.

She watched her skin shrivel and prune in delight as she swum back and forth with steady even strokes, her feet skimming the sandy bottom dotted with rocks, the water rushing past, fast flowing and refreshing and salty in her mouth even if a bit murky from corpses further inland. She tried to catch small silver fish that rushed past her, tugged at the weeds fluttering around her ankles and laughed like a little child all the while.

She eventually bobbed to the side and snatched Jaqen’s cloak to wrap herself in, water dripping and rolling off her in droves. She perched on a rock swinging her legs back and forth watching her clothes dry. She was swaddled in his cloak like a babe but didn’t care, wrapping it closer around her shoulders as she waited. It had rained earlier and the world smelt fresh. For a moment that morning when she woke she could reminisce the scent of raindrops, the sound of water hitting running fur.

She bent and picked off a weed plastered to her leg, brushing sand off the soles of her feet. She wiggled them and delighted in the blisters that no longer hurt after the stinging salt had got in the cuts. 

“Is a girl lovely and clean?” Jaqen’s voice somewhere behind her made her startle and she nodded, furiously, head bobbing up and down.

It wasn’t that close, but it wasn’t too far to come in case she did something stupid. He probably thought she’d drown and she pulled a face despite being thankful of his protectiveness. He’d killed people for her, so many people.

“Yes. Do you want your cloak back?”

“When you are dressed Arya.” He sounded amused and Arya felt her cheeks go red.

She automatically scowled and angled her head to watch him polish his sword on his shirt.

“Don’t you want to wash?” She called.

“I can go later, there is time.” He reached for an apple and bit into it, juice running through his fingers.

She turned back to focus on drying herself, the smooth folds of the cloak draping her small body. She rubbed her legs dry, and the rest of her body, her hair would dry later.

When she was dry and the cloak was soaked she shuffled into her slightly damp clothes, debating whether to bundle the cloak up and throw it at him or leave it there. She left it drying in the sun and after lacing her boots strode to his side and sat down. He offered her an apple she took eagerly, loving the crunching sound and the juicy taste.

“May I go wash now?”

Arya nodded, chewing a piece of apple as she looked up at him. “I left your cloak to dry.”

“Thank you.”

Arya watched him walk to the river and start to remove his shirt before looking away. She wondered if this Jaqen had been at Harrenhal the other girls would have swooned as they did with his other face. She didn’t think so. She sighed; she missed his other face.

This one was okay but she couldn’t get used to it. She woke the night before in the middle of a dream and for a second forgot who he was. Terror had spiked through her like a lance before she had grabbed a dagger half asleep. He had laughed then and told her to sleep, that a lovely girl was safe. She half expected him to kiss her forehead, and didn’t want to admit she was slightly disappointed he didn’t.

She dreamt about him after that, him saving her in Harrenhal, when he visited her at the dead of night and the time he had kissed her forehead sending a pool of warmth down to her gut. She dreamt of killing Queen Cersei and King Joffery with Jaqen at her side, whispering in her ear the best way to cause pain, the best way for them to die. Then the dream dissolved into wolves as usual and she’d forgotten until now.

She wondered how life was back at Harrenhal, how Gendry and Hot Pie were. It was bad to dwell on others because invariably her thoughts got pulled back to her Mother and Robb, Sansa and Bran and Rickon. She missed Jon the most. He’d given her Needle, and now Needle was gone forever.

“You are unhappy.” Jaqen noted later as they walked along the river bank to the small town on the horizon. “Do you regret coming with me across the narrow seas?”

They hadn’t even reached the narrow seas yet, unless the Trident counted.

“I miss my sword.” Arya whispered, big eyes staring up at him sadly.

“Would mine suffice?” Jaqen offered his but it wasn’t the same. She shook her head and sighed, scuffing her feet miserably.

“When we get to Braavos you will not need a sword.” Jaqen comforted her. “He would take it away anyhow.”

“He?” Arya, curiosity piqued looked at him. 

“The Kindly Man.” Jaqen told her. “He is the kindliest man you will ever see.”

He smiled as he said it, and she stared at him suspiciously. “Really?”

“A girl will make a lovely Faceless Woman.”

“You’re not really faceless though.” She told him. “You have a real face don’t you, it’s not just skin is it? You wouldn’t be able to have it like that.”

“Magic.” Jaqen said with a hint of a smirk and she shoved his arm.

They reached the ransacked town a while after, and caught the last ferry for the day with moments to spare.

Jaqen had a few coins he passed to the captain which allowed them entry, but she wondered exactly how they were going to get onto the ship to Braavos with no money. She said as much to Jaqen who just smiled mysteriously.

“A man has ways.”

Arya stood on deck and watched the ferry slowly make its way across the Trident, oars pushing back large amounts of water. The river was more violent up here, and she was glad they’d washed earlier when it was calmer. After Jaqen had prowled around the cabins he came back up to stand next to her and they watched in silence as they came closer to the other side.

“We are not far from a port.” Jaqen murmured. “I asked the Captain and he informed me that Saltpans is about four days walk away. We will catch a ship there.”

Arya nodded. “And then we go to Braavos?”

“And then we go to Braavos.”

Jaqen smiled and Arya had smiled back slightly late.

“What is wrong lovely girl hmm?” He bent down slightly to hear her over the crashing waves and sweeping oars.

“I just miss my Mother.” She said, eyes staring into his.

“And I am sure your Mother misses you.” He laced a strand of hair behind her ear.

“You promise you’ll bring me back one day?” She asked. “You’ll come with me to see her and my brother? He’s King in the North you know.”

He smiled. “I know and I promise, on the Old Gods and the New.”

She wasn’t sure whether she believed in any God now her Father was dead, but nodded all the same. He _did_ kiss her forehead then, and she turned and burrowed her head in his chest.

“Thank you.” She mumbled and he sighed tenderly, stroking her hair as the ferry came to dock. She didn’t really want to let go but forced herself, thanking the men and walking onto the other side of the huge river.

Their journey was not even half over, she came to realise, but plodded on dutifully. She said she would go with him, and she was curious about what would happen in Braavos, and she wanted to know everything he did, and she liked Jaqen.

He was her best friend, her only friend.

Even if she didn’t know his real name, age or anything else except the fact he was a good killer and his home was Braavos.

Still, good at committing murder was not a bad skill for a friend to have, and Arya couldn’t get rid of the smile on her lips as she walked by his side.

“Something is amusing?” Jaqen’s own lips tilted up in response.

“Weasel soup.” She responded, and as her mind flitted back to the most macabre killings she wondered about the two who assisted. “Why were Biter and Rorge so scared of you? What did you do?”

His smile grew, eyes hazy as he looked back with pleasure. “In the dark, the mind can play unpleasant tricks on people.”

He left it at that, and to others his smile may have looked creepy. To Arya it was familiar, even though it was different lips, a smile that meant she was not alone.

“Fear cuts deeper than swords.”Arya murmured, eyes looking up to hone in on the first sight of a town on the horizon. Maybe that was where they'd get the ship. 

“A girl is wise.”

“My old teacher taught me that, he was from Braavos too. Syrio Forel, he was the First Sword of Braavos, he taught me how to fight."

 "He must have taught a girl well for her to have survived this long, yet I have never seen you in action."

"I don't have my sword." 

He tossed his to her suddenly and she gasped sharply, clutching at the hilt and barely recovering before Jaqen lunged at her with a dagger. She stumbled backwards, slashing wildly before Syrio's lessons float back to her. _Quick_   _as a snake, swift as a deer._  

She darted away from Jaqen, using her small stature as an advantage.  _Arya Underfoot,_ she chanted as she wheeled back around. Jaqen's dagger stung as it ripped her shirt and just grazed her skin, and she bit her lip as she swung the sword. She thought for an awful moment she'd hurt him but he was too fast. The dagger toppled to the floor and she bent to pick it up. 

Jaqen's arms encircled her hips and twisted her around, bending her arm painfully so the tip of the sword pressed up to her throat. She knew he wouldn't truly hurt her, but the cold steel against her neck made her throat close up in a brief flash of panic. 

They stared at each other for a long moment. She let out a shuddering breath, staring up at him wide eyed.

"A girl is good, but she will learn much and more when she is in Braavos, from people much more talented." He said huskily, fingers delicately brushing a piece of hair out of her eyes. 

"Syrio was talented." Arya scowled, trying to ignore his warm hands. "He killed five men with just a wooden sword."

"And you will kill many more with much less." He assured her, breath minty on her lips and she twisted her neck, craning it as he shifted his weight on the sword.    

_Calm as still water._

"Not today." She growled. 

Jaqen let her go and smiled. 


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Naughty language in this chapter, but it's nothing you haven't heard in the books/show.

She smelt the sea in the air, the sharp salt tinge that only grew stronger the closer they come to the port.

 Her and Jaqen need new clothes desperately, and traverse along the shops around the harbour overshadowed by the huge castle. It was easy enough for Jaqen to sell armour, Lannister armour at that. He even managed to get some new breeches and a shirt for Arya, and she nipped into the nearest ale house to change while he had a drink. He offered her a sip when she slipped back to his side. Arya hesitated; the only time she had wine is when her Father let her have a cup on special occasions. Her heart panged and she took a gulp, coughing slightly.

Jaqen smiled, and she focused on that instead of her Father, because Father most definitely would not have approved of what she was doing, never mind what she was drinking.

Jaqen poured a tankard full of water and slid it to her. She took a grateful sip, perching up on the barstool beside him and trying to ignore the men sending her lingering glances through the smoky room.

She didn’t like the feel of this place, the tension beneath the patron’s skins. They were wary of them and no wonder; places nearby had been ransacked and they were waiting on tenterhooks for when they would be next.

Arya took a quiet sip of her water and felt for the reassuring dagger in her front pocket.

“How long will it take on the ship? I’ve never been on one before.” A wave of anxiety crashed over her at the thought of dying before ever seeing her Mother or brother again but she quickly stifled it. _I am a she-wolf,_ she told herself, _and wolves aren’t scared of anything._

“It will depend on the winds.” Jaqen murmured idly, eyes sweeping over each person in the vicinity. “But it shall not take long, and then our journey shall be over. Do you know when the next ship to Braavos leaves?" Jaqen leant across the bar to ask the owner, who stopped washing a tankard with a dirty rag to glare suspiciously and slowly shrug.

That's when the trouble started. 

"I say, we've seen enough of your type to recognise bad folk when we see 'em." A creaky voice spoke up behind the pair. "You think you aren't suspicious with your Lannister armour and your pretty little girl? A walk along fuck whenever you're needy." 

The speaker was an old grizzled man who spat in disgust at them across the inn. "Well we won't have any more trouble in this town. We've been ransacked enough, ain't that right?" He looked at the other patrons who nodded, faces suddenly set into steel. 

Arya clumsily slipped off her seat, but was pinned where she was by Jaqen's cautious hand heavy on her shoulder. 

“Girlie.” The man said in a creaky tone, and Arya looked him straight in the eye.

 "Yes?"

 "No good will do from you hanging around a man like that. Your cunt'll get destroyed if it hasn't already. You're despoiled love. Stay with me and I'll look after you."

 "Shut up." Arya said fiercely. "I don't know you so why should I stay? Jaqen's my friend and you don't know anything, stupid. We're not here to ransack you like the Hound we just want to board a ship."

If she could just reach her dagger she could easily kill that man, that would show Jaqen. How could he be so calm, he had killed people for her before- 

"Just what a brainwashed babe would say." The man clucked his tongue. "It's time we fought back against these monsters aye, we don't have a chance when they come on horseback with fire, but this time boys it'll be easy. Show 'em exactly what its like when the people bite back."

 The two broad men beside him got up and started to walk towards them. It would have looked funny if they weren't so angry. The dark set of their eyebrows, the clenched jaws. They really thought Jaqen was like all the other outlaws who had plundered villages and raped girls. They thought she was being kept as a sex slave, and Arya stomach churned. 

"Stop it." Arya told them. "Stupid! You don't know-"

"We know enough." The old man said grimly, eyes haunted by ghosts. Maybe he'd had a daughter  who looked like Arya before the War of the Five Kings. Perhaps they had looked alike, but Arya was sure if he was being haunted the daughter had not been as good a fighter as her. She conspiciously tried to wrangle her dagger out into her hand.  

"Take the girl to safety, Elnora's will do for now. She'll have he well looked after."

"Take her to a whore house she's already been trained!" Another drunk patron shouted and Arya glowered at them all defiantly, fighting against Jaqen's hold on her shoulder as she finally managed to wriggle her dagger into her palm. 

"Do you wish to die?" Jaqen said slowly and the men paused. 

"We ain't scared of you." The blonde man prodded Jaqen's chest as the other dragged Arya to the side.

Jaqen flashed his teeth into a chilling smile. "You should be." 

It was like they had rehearsed it. In unison Arya weasled her way out of her captors grip and drove her dagger through the sinews of his neck, blood spurting out and running down his collarbone as she pulled it out and shoved him over.

She gasped, breath rattling as she turned around.

Everyone was dead.

The four other patrons, the man behind the counter. 

Jaqen stood amongst the corpses raising his tankard ironically and draining the last dregs of his wine.

"How...?" Arya knew he had used magic to make Weese's dog eat him, but this... She needed to learn this, athough a part of her still hungered for the more  _intimate_ killing. Her hands were covered in the blood of the man she'd stabbed, and she cautiously plucked a passage through the bodies to wash them in the cracked sink behind the bar. 

"A girl will learn this trick. Or not." Jaqen shrugged delicately. "They have all died of poison in the drink supply. All except this man," He motioned towards the one Arya killed. "Who got rather drunk and would insist on a fight. Now we leave quieter than mice. "

Arya welcomed the cool breeze on her face as the exited into the bright morning, although her mind could not stray from the people.

They were only trying to protect her but it was pointless. Everyone who tried ended up dying. Father, Yoren... now these. They didn't even know her which made the act even more extraordinary kind and  _stupid._ If Jaqen hadn't have killed them they would have died anyway, she told herself. That one man wanted to send me to the whore house, they all were trying to kidnap me just like Ser Gregor did back before Harrenhal. They are just as bad. 

They walked in silence down the silent cobbled main street until they reached the docks.

“How do we get on board?” Arya asked, hopping over the mouldy wood and scanning the three ships waiting. “We don’t have enough money... do we? We should have stolen from them, we could go back-"

"No need. And we do not steal from the gifted." Jaqen smiled cryptically and ushered her forward to the nearest ship where a lanky boy watched them as suspiciously as the dead men from before. 

“The Captain?” Jaqen asked him, and the boy stared a moment more before leaving, returning a few minutes later with the captain. Tall and wiry with a wispy beard and dark eyes under hairy eyebrows.

“I don’t take any passengers.” He said brusquely. “This is a trade ship not a bloody-”

Jaqen held out his strange iron coin, and the captain gawked at him and Arya in turn.   

“Valar Morghulis.” Jaqen said and the captain paled. Arya hovered by Jaqen’s side and tried to restrain a gleeful smile; _she_ wanted to be that scary. So powerful that everyone who encounters her is terrified.

_Dunsen, Polliver, Raff the Sweetling, The Tickler and The Hound. Ser Gregor, Ser Amory, Ser Ilyn, Ser Meryn, King Joffrey, Queen Cersei._

“Valar Dohaeris. Come aboard.”

Jaqen let her on first, and Arya walked nimbly across the plank to the ship before waiting for him. She grabbed hold of his shirt as he walked past and he frowned, crouching down slightly.

“What does that mean?” She whispered to him. “Valar Morghulis?”

“All men must die.” He whispered back, and they smiled secret smiles and went to check out their passage to Braavos.

The sea voyage was long and tedious, but Jaqen seemed to sense her boredom on the second day and gave her a task, to find something new every day to tell him when they headed to their cabins for the night.

She took his words seriously, every day finding something new in the cabins. A small crystalline starfish, shells strewn into a necklace, a barrel of expensive Dornish wine. Pieces of ragged fishing line, seaweed hung to dry with the salt still lingering in the air. A smooth pebble that fit snugly in the centre of her palm. A sea legend from the captain, who was the only one on the ship apart from them who spoke the Common tongue.

The woman of the crew adored her, gushed over her and Jaqen in turn which they both find amusing.

Arya didn’t find it amusing at all when a woman tried to kiss Jaqen. It wasn’t any of her business though, and she swiftly went up deck and sat in a patch of sun when the woman practically lunged at him. Jaqen could do what he wanted. He didn’t ask to be saddled with her, he offered. He probably didn’t expect her to agree; Arya herself didn’t expect to agree.

Jaqen appeared a minute later to sit next to her.

“You can kiss her if you want.” She said, playing with a piece of rope, although she didn’t understand why people liked this face so much; he looked prettier before.  

His lips tilted up into _that_ smile.

“I don’t want.” He said, closing his eyes and tilting his head up towards the sun.

She watched him discreetly, the way his face glowed golden. She wondered if all Faceless men do their business directly or let themselves forget for an hour or two at a whore house. Somehow she didn’t think Jaqen was like that. He must have had someone who loved him at one point, a family and friends...

She frowned as she stared at him.

He was quiet for so long she thought he’d fallen asleep, and she let her own eyes slide close. The sun was warm on her face, and the sound of waves crashing against the boat as it swayed back and forth made her sleepy. Her head lolled onto his shoulder.

“Have you found out anything so far today?”

She jumped slightly, blinking the fuzziness out of her eyes.

“You don’t want to be kissed.” She said groggily and he laughed, stroking her hair lightly.

“A girl is tired. Why?”

“Dreams.” She murmured.

“Bad dreams?”

“No.” She reassured him, shifting against him to get more comfortable. She ended up with her head on his lap, staring up at the azure sky with the fluffy white clouds while Jaqen deftly undid the knots in her hair.

“Strange dreams.” She told him absently. “About wolves.”

“Well that is understandable; you are missing your wolf Nymeria.”

Arya nodded. “But I don’t just dream about wolves, I _am_ a wolf.”

“Well of course. You are Arya of House Stark who has a direwolf as their sigil. You are also Arry, and Weasel and Nan and soon No One at all. The dreams will stop then.”

Arya closed her eyes with a sigh. “What if they don’t?”

“Then you will hope No One forgets them.”

He continued to sort out her hair, humming some strange foreign tune under his breath that lulled her into peace, and she felt the most content since her Father died.


	5. Chapter 5

Braavos was, Arya thought, a quaint city. Its small cobbled streets twisted and turned around slim buildings, morphing into bridges that rose over every canal. It was a mismatched puzzle of islands with pieces missing, towers and domes glittering bronze in the dusk. Arya trailed after Jaqen with mouth agape and feet stumbling, captivated by the simplistic beauty of the huge bridge decorated in crabs, fish, shells. Braavos was beautiful, but Braavos was not home.

She told this to Jaqen as they walked down streets so similar they made her dizzy and hopelessly lost, eyes straining for some recognizable feature amongst all the mudane. 

"It will become home, in time." He assured her, his boots ringing on the slabs. They were the only people around at this hour in this part of the city, away from the hustle and bustle of the port they had left their ship in. Armed with various keepsakes from the crew Arya was beginning to flag, and Jaqen clasped his travelling cloak around his neck and picked up some of her load, examining a silver fork with an amused smile before filching it away somewhere. He was too quick for her, catching her off guards all the time. She didn't like it. 

"Even if you never think of it at home you speak the Common tongue, something the House of Black and White find valuable when working away." 

She hoped the House of Black and White was near; she was tired, having been unable to sleep the night before from watching the dim lights on the horizon, the start of a new beginning. A new era, carrying on the work Syrio Forel had taught her until she was as good as Jaqen.  _Better_ than Jaqen in fact. 

She didn't know how long it would take, but she was a quick learner. Syrio had said as much once she'd managed to catch cats, and when she'd learnt everything she'd go and protect her brother Robb, King in the North. Then they'd win Winterfell back and she could go home... maybe Jaqen would go with her.

"Have you ever been North?" She asked. "I know when I met you we were going to the Wall, but have you ever been further than the Riverlands?"

Jaqen shook his head, the black curls dancing against his sharp cheekbones. "Lorath, the Iron Islands, Essos."

"Westeros."

"And I managed to bring back someone alive this time." He said dryly and Arya snorted with surprised laughter. 

"I decided to come myself. You didn't bring me." She said and Jaqen smirked, his face half shrouded by early morning mist. "When are we there anyway?"

 He came to a sudden stop and gently tugged her back, and Arya stumbled disconcerted. Directly below her a large canal seperated them from a small wooden dock. 

"There's no boat." Arya said stupidly, and followed Jaqen as he walked towards the nearest bridge. She sunk her teeth into her lower lip to stop laughing, his majestic feathered cloak looking a tad too excessive and attention grabbing for a highly trained assassin.

She needn't have worried; he tossed it over the bridge carelessly as they walked over. Arya watched it fall into the depths of the glossy black waters and wondered if she'd have to do the same. She emptied the trinklets methodically one by one; the silver fork Jaqen handed back, the pearls, the floppy hat and fingerless gloves. All of them sank or drifted, swaying on the gentle waves lapping either side of the canal.

 By the time they reached the other side both of them were empty handed. Arya had nothing but the clothes on her back now, and for a fleeting second she thought of her slim sword Needle before being distracted. 

They were approching a temple now, with black tiles slanting on the roof. They climbed steps then, lots of steps that Arya lost count. At the top there was a carved wooden door twelve feet high, half ebony on weirwood,  and the other weirwood over ebony. A carved moon face divided them, and Jaqen stared up at the door with no handle.

"Valar Morghulis."

As a foolish afterthought Arya produced the coin Jaqen had given across their sea vogue, rubbing it between her fingers. The small iron coin was well worn and had the face rubbed off, but she favoured it all the same. She couldn't throw that away, not in front of the person who had given it to her. 

The doors opened, and Jaqen gestured her forward with an arm. She took a hesitant step, peering around and squinting before her eyes adjusted to the dark. Candles burnt along the walls, but she couldn't find her way until Jaqen's calloused hand led her like a lamb to slaughter. Naive perhaps, but she trusted him with her life. He was the only one she trusted with her life, the man who had killed her tormentors for her, who had helped her get free from Harrenhal. Of course she liked his hand around hers, of course she went willingly with no fear than. His simple touch emboldened her in the dark. Jaqen made her brave again. 

They entered a large temple, with rushing water and sobs filling Arya's ears as they echoed around. There were statues, massive slightly intimidating statues of young children and crying women. There were real crying people too, and others whispering in a langauge she didn't understand. 

"What is this place?" Arya breathed.

"People come here to be closer to their Gods." Jaqen explained, voice a husky whisper so not to disturb the sleeping people at peace. 

 Jaqen swept past them without a glance, but Arya hesitated at the weeping man beside the pool. Jaqen turned to watch her curiously as she went to fetch him water. She realised he was bleeding but too late. It explained Jaqen's ignorance anyway, and she drifted back to her friend biting her lip. 

"A girl is good." He smiled, a small strange smile before his eyes flickered to someone behind her. 

She whirled around instinctivally drawing into a defensive position. The man was wearing a hood, a gown that was half black and half white. 

"Who is your friend?" He directed the question at Jaqen, but Arya stepped forward. She didn't want Jaqen to get in trouble, not for her. It was her fault she was here in the first place, she agreed to go. 

"I'm Salty."

Jaqen clucked his tongue slightly behind her and she knew the hooded man was smiling at her. 

"Your real name."

She hesistated distrustfully, turning to look up at Jaqen who nodded.

"Arya," She eyed the man. "Arya of House Stark." 

"The House of Black and White is no place for you." The man turned to Jaqen. "Why is she here?" 

"To train." Arya blurted before he could answer. "To learn the things that Jaqen can do like the face-changing thing-"

"Do you fear death?" 

The cold question made her pause, shake her head vigerously. " _No._ "

She didn't want to recognise the part in her that was okay with killing someone, but she had killed many. She had seen what happened to the people who lost, and if one day that was her she would not be afraid. She had wolves blood running through her veins, and wolves were scared of no one and nothing, least of all death.

"Really?" The man hummed a disbelief, lifting back his hood to reveal a skull. Yellowed, with rotting skin falling off and falling. A worm wriggled from the eye socket and she plucked it smugly, kissing him when he asked and going to eat the worm before it disappeared in her hand.

The man had changed his face, the skull melting away to be the kindliest old man Arya had ever seen. "No one had ever tried to eat my worm before. Not even  _you._ "

His face changed when he met Jaqen's gaze.

"Child, are you hungry?"

"No." 

"Good girl, go and break your fast." Jaqen said, voice as slow and sure as if he were facing a monster. Eyes never leaving the kind old man, and Arya frowned. Staring between the two she dithered, not wanting to stay and not wanting to leave if the man was going to tell Jaqen off. 

A young girl tugged at her arm insistently and she followed reluctantly, head craning back to see the two men in deep conversation. Neither looked happy, and Arya bit her lip guiltily. 

Things would work out here. They had to, or else how was she going to learn his skills? How was she going to protect her family? She couldn't protect her Father when he stood on the steps and was beheaded, and she knew this time would be different. 

_Dunsen, Polliver, Raff the Sweetling, The Tickler and The Hound. Ser Gregor, Ser Amory, Ser Ilyn, Ser Meryn, King Joffrey, Queen Cersei._

_  
_She was going to kill them, and then she was going to meet back with her brother. She'd help him win of course, her and Jaqen could kill the Queen and Joffrey together, and then he could have Ser Gregor and her the Hound and they could work side by side together... and when all the death and destruction is over they can go back to Winterfell, and Robb will be the Lord and Bran will become a maester and Rickon a squire and Sansa will marry someone nice like SmallJon Umber and everything will be as back to normal as possible. They can share stories of their Father so nobody will forget, and visit his tomb in the crypt, and she can visit Jon up on the Wall and maybe she'd get a new Needle...

 

_I'm coming Mother, I'm coming Robb. Just you wait._

 


	6. Chapter 6

 

The House of Black and White was nothing like Arya had imagined, but she would not give the Kindly Man the satisfaction of knowing that.

He seemed to know anyway, he seemed to know everything.

He knew her lies, how she bit her lip without knowing and shifted her eyes to the side and dragged her foot an inch back. It infuriated her, Arya Stark who had always been able to deceive. She did it in Harrenhal with Roose Bolton's cold eyes boring into her, and now an old man with a wizened face like a prune told her she was rubbish and to train harder. It made her wolves blood boil and she clenched her fists as she practised hour after hour in a mirror, pulling faces and contorting her expression. Telling herself lies.  _I like The Hound. I admire Queen Cersei and want to be just like her when I'm older._ _Sansa and I are the best of friends, when we were little we played dolls for hours._ A half-truth, except more often than not Arya pulled the dolls apart to her sisters distress. 

 _My Father is alive and back home in Winterfell._ That lie  _hurt,_ and she didn't use that again. She didn't want to see the sadness the- the _weakness_ in her eyes again. Still she persevered, and all for nothing as the next time the Kindly Man saw straight through her attempts again. 

He knew about her annoyance at her so-called training (she did not want to help Umma with the cooking and clean the floor like a common slave girl and pull faces in a mirror to learn to lie better, she wanted to learn to _fight_.) On their second night, after not seeing Jaqen since arriving and passing him in the corridor she forced him to fight her. He easily overpowered her pathetic candlestick sword, but it only reminded her of Mycah and Nymeria that day on the Trident and she sagged against him defeated. 

That was the worst thing.

He knew about Jaqen. She didn’t know what exactly Jaqen had said in their conversation, but she’d barely seen him since they’d arrived and when she tried to talk someone always conveniently popped up asking for something in Braavosi - something she was also failing miserably at. 

The House of Black and White was not all she thought it was going to be, so it was time to take things into her own hands, the Kindly man be damned. Arya stomped down the corridors from her chamber, hoping to come across Jaqen in passing as she had no idea where his room was, or even if he had one. 

She couldn't find him in the rooms, nor the kitchen that Umma chased her out of. She ended up perched in the temple with her bare feet dangling in the pool. She watched people sacrifice themselves with a strange numbness, and half-asleep she could almost imagine her feet were paws- 

_She could smell her brother, part of a pack from long ago. He was leagues away but closer than ever before, and the bond nestled under her bristled fur even as she ran with her other pack. Her pack, her the leader of it all. She led them to attack the stag grazing amongst the trees, but even as she took the best pickings and moved on overseeing her second in commands dutifully strip the beast of flesh she felt the kinship slowly start to waver._

_She growled in annoyance, ear flicking around cautiously. She was scared of no man, and she was the alpha, and who dares question her authority? She shook her coat, shaking her head like trying to get rid of a tick latching onto her skin-_

The water sloshed as another person sat next to her, shoulders touching.  Arya opened her eyes distrustfully, shaking her head to get rid of a wolves thought and tensing her muscles. She relaxed when she saw her friend, his own dirty feet trailing through the water. 

"Where were you?" She asked. 

"A man had a duty." He shrugged, but his eyes were rimmed with black bags and a fine scratch decorated his neck, his arm.

"What happened?" She tentatively traced the red mark on his forearm. Not bleeding, but it looked sore.

"Sometimes there are accidents." He said carelessly. "My own fault. I was... distracted."

"Because of me?" Arya whispered. "He's angry at you isn't he? Because of me."

“No lovely girl." She felt foolish and selfish for a second then, to blame Jaqen's slight distraction on her. 

"He is... displeased as I have come back early.”

“Early?”

“I did have other places to go, other people to meet. Bringing you here just delayed that a while, and he is not happy.”

"Oh." She mused on that for a while, dragging her feet back and forth. Jaqen had blood spotted on his collar, crusted on his hands beneath the fingernails. "Was it hard to kill the person?"

"Not hard. I was caught off-guard, a foolish mistake." He sighed deeply and she leant his head on her shoulder. "Normally I am not usually wounded. The scratch is a mere scratch, it is already near healed. The blood... well there was a lot more on him." She recognises the savagery in that smile and an answering smile spreads on her lips.

"Did you stab them?"

That's what she's going to do, when she gets Needle back. 

"A Faceless man does not reveal how he gave the gift."

Arya snorted. "A dozen people saw Weese get eaten by his dog and everyone knew Chiswyk fell from the tower." 

"But they did not see a dog enchanted and witness a shadow pushing another over the edge." He explained gently. 

"Well I think you stabbed them." Arya concluded defiantly.

"There are many ways to greet death other than a sword." Jaqen chuckled. "A concept you have not embraced. A sweet poison can do the job over many days, or a number of seconds if you wish no suffering. A rope can get tangled around a neck very easily, and the silent goodbye as a pillow is pressed over the face is a most easy method if you can sneak in and out evading capture."  

Arya pushed her bottom lip out. "Stabbing is better." 

"You have no sword." He reminded her, ignoring her scowl. "A Faceless Man makes do with the weapons he has." 

They fell silent, watching a young woman weeping, collapsing onto the floor almost gracefully in her grief.

 "When will I learn?" Arya murmured. "The Kindly Man does not tell me naught, and he gives me stupid tasks that make no sense like studying all the statues and sweeping the floor." 

"You will learn when he believes you are ready, and not anytime before. You need to learn the Braavosi language, and fit in here first, or else how do you expect to learn hmm?" 

"I don't know if I'll fit in here." She confided, nerves suddenly squirming in her stomach. "What if I don't Jaqen?"

He leaned in towards her then, his lips inches away from her ear. She shuddered when his breath made her hair tickle, raise goosebumps on her neck. 

"If you truly want to complete your list," He whispered. "You'll do whatever he says." He leant back and appraised her. "A young girl understands?"

Arya nodded obediently, and narrowed her eyes slightly. It was clear that something was amiss between the Kindly Man and Jaqen; there was no love lost there. 

Jaqen kissed her forehead then, and his lips lingered, and the warmth from his caress turned to an inferno under her skin. His hands threaded through her hair tenderly and she hugged him impulsively, squeezing her eyes shut. 

"I wish you could teach me." She sighed morosely.

"And would you listen?" He eyed her disbelievingly.

"Yes!" Arya said, but couldn't resist a laugh at his arched eyebrow. "Yes, I would. I listened to you all the way here didn't I?" She says smartly and Jaqen nods in agreement. 

 "A surprise. I thought a girl would be more resistant to orders."

"I know you would never harm me. Not intentionally." She grinned up at him and he flicked water at her.

She let out an extremely un-Arya like giggle, and it was like she was back at Winterfell again playing with her brothers. Although her brothers had never made her skin hot and tingle when they touched. Jaqen was different, oh so different...and how she wanted to be like that! 

"Do you think I'll be a good Faceless Man Jaqen?" 

"Yes." He said it without hesitation. "My sweet girl, do you not think I would have offered if I hadn't thought you had potential? I can see the revenge in your eyes. I can see the blood on your hands." 

She looked down at her hands nervously, the stable boy flicking to her mind. The feel of Needle as it sliced into his skin like he was nothing-

"And only a small girl. Well with training and age, who is a better candidate?" 

The Kindly Man entered the room, eyes gazing at the gifts to Gods laid in various stages of despair and death before walking towards the pair. 

"The job is done?" 

Arya was sure they only spoke Common tongue in courtesy of her.

"Of course." 

The man nodded satisfied and turned to look at her. "Come. It is time for lessons." 

Arya restrained a sigh and remembered what Jaqen said about doing whatever he said. She wouldn't even complain, mayhaps that would make him promote her faster. The encouraging thought made her scramble to her feet, hesitating for a moment beside him.

"I shall see you soon." 

Jaqen nodded, gazing out across the pool to the statues across, and she followed the Kindly man as was her duty.

And when she asked what they were doing, and he fired off random questions for her to answer he didn't catch a single lie she told. 


	7. Chapter 7

 

She had the menial, boring tasks. Pour wine and serve dinner to the acolytes, sweep the temple floors and fold the clothes of the corpses given the Gift. 

She folded clothes in the small dark room off the side of the temple and wondered how the people back home were. Jon, her Mother and Robb, Bran and Rickon... even her heart ached for Sansa a little bit. She reminisced on Winterfell, doing exactly what the Kindly Man had told her not to - but Arya had gotten better at lying. She was even starting to get the hang of simple Braavosi language, and the Kindly Man said soon she could maybe go about Braavos itself and learn the inhabitants. Not too closely, Jaqen had warned. For Faceless Men can only kill the people they do not know, and if you make friends with everyone my lovely Arya Stark how shall you kill them later? She'd reminded him of the name-calling incident again then and he'd laughed. He'd been hanging around her a lot, something Arya was sure was down to the argument she heard between him and the not-so Kindly Man a few days earlier. Something about the Citadel and going sooner. In fact, she was surprised he wasn't here now. 

She scratched at her head, reminded herself she needed to bathe later on, and kept folding clothes again. It was dark and drafty, and she shivered lightly in her servants tunic. A coin slipped from her greedy hands and rolled across the floor.

Someone picked it up before her.

"Why do you always do that?" She scowled and grabbed the coin off him. 

Jaqen stared at her in amusement, his face grey in the dark and barely distinguishable. She'd gotten used to this face though, could count the hardly seen freckles dusting the side of his nose, all seven of them (three on the left, four on the right.) She knew that his eyes glittered cold black onyx when he was angry or frustrated, were warm liquid pools of azure waters when amused or content. She liked to be able to think that when around her his eyes were always alight and burning deep from within. She knew his gold tooth was two teeth along the left bottom row. She'd concluded the scar on his right cheek seemed to be from a fishing hook, and guessed the face before had worked on the docks. With so little to do in the temple, watching her best friend and learning all his quirks seemed a good enough way to pass the time. 

But she was becoming attached. _Stupid_ , she chanted to herself, _because soon he'll get a new face and you'll have to pick features out of that one to like._

 "Do what lovely one?" He sauntered forward to pass her the coin, his warm fingers tucking the cold iron into her palm. She missed the fleeting contact as he moved out of her way and stared at her work.

"Sneak up on me." Her eyebrows pulled into a scowl, and he chuckled softly, the sound rolling over her skin in the shadows.

She turned back to look over the pile of coins already hoarded and put the iron coin he'd handed her into the others. She was still annoyed he was able to do that, with her training from Syrio and her weeks observing the other Faceless Men she thought she'd catch him off guard for once. But no. She sighed heavily. 

"A girl needs to learn to hear better. A girl must broaden her senses.”

“How?”

And suddenly his hands are over her eyes. She jumped instinctively, hand flying to the empty air at her hip where Needle used to hang and now didn't. She swallowed bitter disappointment and shifted uncomfortably as his breath tickled her ear. Her heart beat erraticaly, and he cooed softly in her ear.

"Shhsh. Now tell me what do you hear? Concentrate now." His breath tickled and she tried to ignore the tingling of her body, shifting uncomfortably as she strained to hear.

"Umm....I hear the acolytes in the temple going about their work, and the the water from the pool."

“More.”

“The, the crackle of the candles, the shift of your clothes as you come closer...my heart beating.” 

“And what does a girl feel?” 

His calloused hands over her eyes, blocking out every hint of light. The comforting presence he provided, washing over her in relaxing waves.  _  
_

“Your lips on my ear, and the cool draft around my fingers. Shadows creeping over my skin."

"And what does a girl smell?"

"Wax melting and me and you and  _death._ " 

Satisfied, Jaqen removed his hands and she blinked rapidly, turning to stare at him.

"Why are you even here?" Her tone is annoyed even to her own ears, and she turned back with trembling fingers and hot cheeks to sift through the coins. Sorting them into piles. Westrosi ones there; Braavosi at the other side of the table.

"I merely thought you would want some company. I heard you were leaving soon."

"I heard the same. Where's the Citadel?"

They turned and squared each other up, eyes appraising coolly in the dark. Arya locked her jaw defiantly, eyes burning into his. He'd give in first, she could sense the victory even now. He'd broken down in Harrenhal and given her what she wanted and now he'd do the same.

He broke, and Arya felt a savage power thrum through her. He'd do anything for her. He'd already killed for her, there wasn'tanything else he wouldn't do. She was his weakness, and that pleased her in a violent way. It pleased her in a way that made her frightened, her brain that was now turning to ice, immune to feelings of love and affection. 

"You knew I would be leaving."

"Not this soon." 

"I am not leaving this soon. There is not another ship for a while."

"I don't want you to leave."

"I have to go."

"Why?"

He doesn't answer.

"Tell me why Jaqen.  _Please._ "

"It is something you do not understand, lovely girl." 

Arya scowled.

"You are leaving the temple to work in Braavos." 

She nodded stiffly at his poor attempt to change the subject. 

"You will like that a lot." He told her. 

"Don't I deserve to know?" She said, voice a lethal whip. "You brought me here and I trusted you, I still trust you. And you can't trust me _Jaqen H'ghar._ " She spat his false name, throwing it back at him violently in her unwillingness to see him go. Because maybe, maybe if she made him angry he'd tell her what happened and she could persuade him to take her. Because maybe if she made such a fuss he would stay for her and not leave like everyone else.

"Arya." He sighed delicately, fingers brushing her cheek ever so slightly. She's glad he feels guilty leaving her here after he said all those things about the two of them working together... "Even I myself don't know everything about my assignment."

"Why?" She whispered, staring up at him with wide eyes. Her eyes were her biggest flaw, the Kindly Man had told her. She could lie well, but her eyes could give her away if she was careless. Too expressional. 

"I don't know why they want me to go but I must. It is urgent and important and highly secretive, and know that if I had a choice I would give the task to any other man here. But I have been chosen, and you know better than anyone how good I am at my job."

They smiled at each other, Arya's hand grasping his tight to prevent him from leaving. Leaving the room, leaving her.  

"If its a secret I can keep it." She murmured. "I'm good at keeping secrets." 

"I know." Jaqen agreed, tucking a lock of hair behind her ear. "But I won't be gone for long, and a man hasn't gone yet. We have plenty of time." 

She nodded and turned to look back at her piles of coins; Jaqen's hand ghosted across her soft cheek and slipped off to run through his tousled black curls. 

"Tell me more about Braavos then." She grabbed the pile of folded clothes and Jaqen swept the coins into separate bags. They walked through the temple, Arya's eyes flitting to search for more corpses. Nobody else was dead yet, but it looked like that young woman with the bronze hair was trying to work up the courage, hands shaking as she poured and refilled a goblet of water and stared into the pool.  

"You will discover Braavos yourself soon enough." Jaqen told her. "I'll tell you about Norvos, since you have been deprived of seeing the great city so far. a man can still recall the ringing bells, can still remember the bears that danced the Sinner's steps."

He tells her more and more, and then when he is done describing that he begins to account another Free City Lys. Arya decides that when she's finished with her training and helped her brother win his war she'll travel the whole of Westeros and Essos too. Seeing all the different people, learning all about their lives... giving everyone regardless of culture, age, gender the gift. She could scarcely wait, her head filling of daydreams much like Sansa's used to be about fair-haired knights in shining armour. Except of course, Arya's daydreams were bloody and violent and vibrant and not at all about mushy fools.

An acolyte clears his throat, standing at the door, gesturing Jaqen to follow. Not Arya, shaking his head firmly when she went to follow.They didn't like a girl training, especially not a young girl. She knew they thought she was useless here, but she'd prove them wrong. 

"I shall see a girl later, and we shall resume our talk." Jaqen told her as he departed, and she was left on her own with no duties left. 

She didn't fancy seeing the Waif or Kindly Man, going to the kitchen and hovering there until Umma hit her with her spoon and ordered her out. 

She stalked off back into the temple and began to polish the stupid statues. She worked her way around the Maiden, before she reached the girl from before. Around twenty and two years, Arya would wager. Beautiful, with bronze curls and fat pouted lips. Dressed in rich finery, and salt tears trembled on her eyelashes.

Arya worked her way around her, paying no attention until she cleared her throat.

"I'm sorry. I'm taking too long aren't I?" The woman's voice cracked, and Arya slowly turned to look at her. 

"You can take as much time as you want." Her Braavosi was stilted but understood, and the woman nodded. 

"I thought I would be... braver. I want to die, I do, I do." More tears leaked from her puffed eyes. "I wake up every morning with a dead pit where  my heart should be. I do not want to get out of bed, I do not want to wear shoes that pinch my toes and dresses that make me swoon-" Her voice turned to anguish and anger. "I do not want to do anything at all, but at the same time I wish to make myself known to the world. Do you understand?" 

Arya slowly shook her head.

"No, I don't suppose you do." She sighed heavily. "I don't think anyone understands but," Her lips twisted into a grim smile. "I imagine everyone here says that." 

"Most people just die quickly." Arya shrugged. "They're desperate."

"I do want to do this, I want the black thoughts in my head to stop only I'm afraid."

"The only time a man can be brave is when they are afraid." Arya said suddenly, without even thinking of it. 

The Kindly Man watched her from across the temple and she fought not to cringe guiltily, polishing the statue of the Maiden even fiercer.

The girl nodded, and Arya could see her words making sense for she set her jaw before standing up, dark blue eyes glittering tenaciously. For half a moment Arya thought she was going to leave, that her words had made her resolve to live and reject the temples gift. But then she saw the blonde's feet waver on the tiled edge of the pool, her eyes almost burning a hateful hole in her glassy reflection.

"My name is Bela." She told Arya before jumping.

Arya kept on polishing, and when the girl -  _Bela,_ laid floating face-down in the water she calmly put her polish down and went to inform the men that another corpse lay waiting.

The Kindly Man cornered her on the way back, asking her the usual questions. 

"Who are you?"

"No One." 

"A lie. Now you are a fishmonger's daughter living along the banks of a canal." 

Surprised, she blinked up at him. "What?"

"You heard me. Tomorrow you will go to Brusco's house and work with his daughters to sell clams and mussels in the ports. Learn the streets of Braavos, and remember three new things to tell me everyday. Pick a name child."

"Cat." Arya heard herself say through her giddy excitement of going out of the temple and into Braavos, into proper training. "I'll be Cat of the Canals." 


	8. Chapter 8

“Clams! Mussels! Get your clams here!” Her voice was hoarse from shouting and she tripped more than once as she rolled the rickety barrow along the port again.

She’d lost count of the number of times that hour alone she’d gone back and forth, back and forth. At first the sailors had humoured her and bought a cockle or two but now they ignored her shouts and calls, turning back to trading deals with customers who could be hers if they’d make a deal.

“Cockles and clams!” Cat of the Canals yelled, pushing through crowds with pointy elbows. The ports of Braavos were always bustling with life whether that be old or new, home returnees or fresh faces. She liked the Summer Islanders best, with their skin as dark as midnight with cloaks of rainbow feathers. She liked the Westrosi sailors too, and she sneaked behind them once or twice to hear muttered conversations about the Young Wolf and the Lannister's war. She was positively gleeful when she heard her brother had won the Crag. 

"Oysters!" Cat hollered to disguise her wicked grin, dodging past them to roll her barrow down along the wharves.

The whore house was full today, and a woman named Merry because she was always Merry bought a dozen oysters yesterday when she'd called. Cat couldn't see her today as she went past, and instead turned down another alley. Gulls cried out in sharp calls, large wings flapping wildly as they followed her. Some of the bravest tried to steal some days, and those were the days Cat would long for a sword called Needle in her hands to skewer the bird that stole her goods. Cats followed her too, and Brusco would say when she returned with ten or more following that she was aptly named. 

She could smell the sea in the air, the sharp tang at the back of her mouth and nostrils that reminded her of the Saltpans, of Westeros. The waves crashed back and forth below her as sat on the edge of the pier, snatching five minutes rest. The sea churned dark green and blue, the wind snagging and tugging at her hair that had grown out now. It reached her shoulders and obscured part of her view when the the weather was not so great. She hated that, and was counting down the days until she could leave her job as Cat for the last time and cut it. 

"Clams, mussels, cockles and oysters." Cat sang childlishly under her breath, watching her feet clothed in the scrubbed shoes swing back and forth against the port edge.

She loved the freedom she now had, to wander this bizarre but entertaining city, talk to the countless inhabitants and learn their stories and skills. She was alive here in a place no one knew her real name, able to roam with not one soul thinking she looked like a horse-faced daughter of a long dead Northen Lord from Westeros. Jaqen knew her real name of course, but she hadn't seen him in twenty days, since her last visit to the House of Black and White when the sky was dark and no silver moon rose in the sky. She didn't know if Jaqen wandered the streets of Braavos in the day and they'd just not met, or if the Kindly Man was giving him jobs, or if he was giving the gift to someone. 

"Clams, mussles, cockles and oysters." She mumbled in her best Braavosi, still amazed she was getting better. For a fleeting moment she thought of a sister with bright red hair and the shock on her face if she knew what Arya could not accomplish. She quickly faded, for Sansa had stuck with  _Joffrey_ and not even tried to escape Kings Landing like her. 

Inevitably, even with her time spent in Braavos her thoughts would swirl back to the place she had left. Her nightly prayer was taken note of by the Kindly Man as well as Jaqen, but try as she might she couldn't think the thoughts out of her head. They were ingrained in her now, those names that came so natural as breathing to a nameless faceless girl. 

_Dunsen, Polliver, Raff the Sweetling, The Tickler and The Hound. Ser Gregor, Ser Amory, Ser Ilyn, Ser Meryn, King Joffrey, Queen Cersei._

With a sigh she got back to work, rolling her cart once more along the narrow streets of the Free City. She tired less easily now, her legs were growing longer too and she could no longer pass for a boy. She'd seen some men sneak glances at her, one trader asked her outright how much for the clam between her legs, and she'd shouted back insults with flushed cheeks. She didn't want to look like a woman, preferred it when people treated her like a man. With most woman they were all fragile m'ladies and acted like the weeping maidens from Sansa's stories. No, Arya vowed when she was older she'd be like Visenya Targaryen. A warrior Queen with her dragon. Just like Arya had once been with her wolf Nymeria by her side. The thought made her sad for a second before she rose her head up and straightened her back. The wolves blood was in her, her Father had said. But... could a faceless woman still have wolves blood? You can change a face but you can't change blood.

She pondered it for a while before she heard talk from a trader who had arrived from Pentos about dragons,  _real_ dragons owned by Danereys Targaryen who was only a few years ago. She fantasied that wildly, she could imagine the dragons swooping down and burning Joffrey's army and when Joffrey was running away terrified she'd be there with Jaqen by her side and she'd kill him, driving Needle into his heart while Nymeria dispatched of Cersei and Jaqen watched with approval. Her body tingled in delight at the thought, fingers itching to have that slim sword between her fingers to practise. 

A shadow fell over her and she realised too late she'd been daydreaming, not at all doing her task. 

"Clams, cockles..."

Her voice trailed off as she looked up at the man, and one hand planted firmly on her hip.

"Where have you been?" 

"A man had duties that did not involve you." He shrugged. “May a man have a clam?"

"You have to pay." She warned him and he laughed, the corners of his eyes crinkling.

"Do you think I am a petty thief?" 

He tossed her a golden dragon and she stared at him. 

"That's too much."

"I know." He shrugged and inspected the clams closely before picking the biggest, and Cat slipped the golden dragon into her purse protectively.

He still had the curly mop of black hair, and she wondered why he hadn't changed his face if people could recognise him. She knew if she asked him he'd give her that nonsense about there being stuff she did not know about. Stuff that lead to lots of arguments and discussions between him and the Kindly Man who she was beginning to dislike. She liked being Cat that is true, but Cats have claws and she wanted to kill someone.

"Why are you out here anyway?"

"I have a surprise, but inquisitive girls will not know. Not now or ever if they are not careful."

Cat glowered at him but said nothing, walking past him.

"Cockles! Oysters! Clams!"

A buyer wandered up, but Jaqen still stayed by her side hovering. 

"What's your book about?" She asked off-offhandedly.

"Pardon?" Jaqen looked taken aback and for a fierce hot second glowing smugness warmed Cat's belly. She'd actually caught him off guard, sneaking around him like he had her for so long.

"The book you're reading in the temple. It looks old. Is it about dragons? I heard someone earlier on-"

Jaqen tugged her down the nearest alley to Cat's protests, and Cat glowered at him angrily when he let her go.

"A girl guesses too much and sees too much. She is stupid."

"You're stupid." Cat flung back. "And I thought we told each other everything." 

Jaqen sighed, stepping back and running a hand through his hair irritated. "And I have told a girl time and time again I cannot tell you. Why do you push this?"

He stared at her, and when she didn't answer he stepped forward and gently lifted her chin up so her gaze met his. Unwashed hair fell into her eyes and he brushed it away carelessly.

_Because I thought we were a pack you and I, I thought after all our travelling we would be together for everything. You said you would train me and so far you have left me to struggle on my own._

She shrugged. "I just wanted to know, that's all." 

He couldn't tell her lie, and she tried to hide the victory inside her by biting her bottom lip softly.

"What do you know about the dragons?" He asked, eyes intense. He was still holding her face, cradling it, and she swallowed thickly, put off by his nearness, his fingers on her skin. It made her stiffen ready for attack, the slim cold knife stuffed up her sleeve in the back of her mind in case he wanted to test her. 

"I heard a trader talking about them. He'd been to Pentos a while ago and seen three dragons. Green and silver and black. They were only babies but they must be bigger now. Do you think that Daenerys will ride one?" Cat's eyes widened hopefully. "She can take the throne from Joffrey and help by brother-"

"You have no brother. You are Cat of the Canals now." Jaqen snapped at her, and Arya stared at him in surprise.

"Sorry." He apologized. "I just- I need to go find out these tales for my self." With a frown he stalked off and Arya shook her head in annoyance before picking up her abandoned barrow. 

Whatever the Kindly Man was making Jaqen do was not good, and it had something to do with the Citadel and dragons and maybe Daenerys Targaryen. 

But like Cat cared. Cat was perfectly happy with her barrow of seafood. She stalked back to Talea and Brea that night, and when they asked what was wrong and she didn't reply Brea seemed to think it was a boy. 

"I don't like anyone." Cat growled, huddling onto the boat as they set off down the canal.

"You do!" Talea sang. "You look just like Brea does when she's had an argument with her roof boy!"

"Shhshh!" Brea scolded as the boat rocked. "I do not look like that!"

"You do too! Who is he Cat?"

"Nobody." Cat said firmly. "Someone just annoyed me, that's all." 

"Why?"

"He was speaking in riddles and telling me only half of a story."

"So it is a boy." Talea crooned, twisting a lock of lank brown hair around her finger with a satisfied smile. 

"All men are like that." Brea comforted her with a pat on the arm. 

"I don't-"

The two sisters shared a meaningful look.

"I don't!" Cat snapped. "He's stupid and annoying and mean and I thought we were friends but we're obviously not." Tears stung her eyes to her embarassment. 

"What did you disagree over?" 

"You wouldn't understand. I don't understand." Cat sighed grumpily and propped her chin up with her arm resting on the brow of the boat. Hopefully Jaqen would tell her soon, and if not well, she'll find out herself when she steals his very interesting book.

 


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry I haven't been replying to the comments, I've been busy checking Universities out but rest assured I read them so thank you! Going to make a concentrated effort to reply to them all now! xx

_Quick as a snake._

Arya looked over her shoulder guiltily as she opened the door of Jaqen’s chamber. She didn’t expect there to be much in there and she was right; apart from the stone bed in one corner with blankets nearly folded on top and the pile of clothes in a far corner there was nothing.

_Quiet as a shadow._

Where was the book? It had been gnawing at her for fifteen days, and now the moon was gone from the sky she was back in the temple as Arya not Cat and she’d been searching. She’d given Jaqen the chance to tell her, asked him until they were both ticked off, so she’d had to take matters into her own hands - literally. She'd combed through every room except this one so it _must_ be his. She scrabbled around the room like a frightened animal, afraid he would somehow know she had been there but wanting to find out the truth at the same time. She didn’t want him to leave and not know where he was, and what if he never came back for her? He’d abandon her here all alone and he promised to train her, she didn’t want him to leave-

_Calm as still water._

She stopped and observed the room, biting her lip to concentrate. She checked under the bed, behind the door. She was about to give up when she saw one brick in the wall looked slightly out of place. She squinted and made her way towards it before the door opened.

She whirled around and stared at Jaqen. For a long time that’s all they did, staring at each other like they were strangers. He’d obviously been bathing, a towel wrapped around his hips. Arya stared at him frozen, watching droplets of water fall off his slick curls to splash on his muscled shoulder. _  
_

“I was looking for you.” She suddenly blurted, tongue become mangled in her mouth unable to properly produce words. She shut her open mouth quickly.

“Really?” His smirk was amused and she automatically became defensive, hunching her shoulders and eyebrows settling into a scowl.

“Yes. Why else would I be in your chamber?”

“I did not know you knew where my chamber resided.”

“I didn’t.” Arya said shortly.

“So you were searching...” She can see the question clear in his eyes as he sauntered to his pile of clothes. He tugged a shirt over his bare chest.

“I missed you.” It wasn’t exactly a lie. “I wanted to know when you were leaving and if I would see you again before you left.”

“You think I would leave without saying goodbye lovely girl?”

“No.” She admitted. “But I wanted to know when you’d be back too.”

“I cannot say.” He shrugged. “You have suspicions, and I have even more suspicions based on secrets and lies I cannot tell apart. If one proves correct who can say? A year or more, less?”

She stared at him horrified. “But you can’t leave. Not for that long. You said you’d teach me!”

“There will be plenty of time. Years of time.” He promised. “After this one trip I will be here and if it makes a girl happy will choose to give the gift only to people on Braavos.”

She bit her lip as she mulled that over. A year was not too long; it had been more than a year since her Father died. It seemed so long ago that day, dreamlike in quality as Yoren tugged her away, but the sound of Ice being drawn and the heave of Yoren's chest as he held her and the sword swung through the air felt as recent as yesterday, and she ran a hand through her growing out hair. 

“...Could you write me letters?” She finally asked and he nodded.

She'd know then, what he was doing and if he was alright and when he was coming back. She wouldn't be in a constant state of wondering like when thinking of her Mother and Robb. Her Mother and Robb, who were a million leagues away now fighting for the crown and revenge for her Father.  

“Mayhaps. We shall see lovely girl.”

“I’m sorry.” The shame and guilt gnawing at her for days overflowed, and she hung her head slightly.

Jaqen looked confused, bending down slightly to stare directly into her eyes. “There is nothing for a girl to be sorry for.”

“I’ve been mean to you." She muttered, avoiding his gaze and without thinking wrapping her arms around his waist.  Her tunic becomes damp but she doesn't care, his skin warm against her cheek. She can feel the soft thud of his heart and it reassures her, calms her. 

"I don’t want you to leave, but I understand why you have to. And it doesn't mean I have to like it.” She grumbled into his chest and he chuckled quietly before sighing and stepping away. 

"You can have the book. Read it, ignore it, do with it what you will." He gave her a sufferable look. "But don't let the Kindly Man see you with it in your posession." 

She doesn't understand at first, blinking rapidly as he goes to that one brick slightly out of place.

"I knew it." She muttered without thinking and he laughed, taking out that slim dusty old book she had seen weeks previously. He had been reading it tucked in one corner but of course she had noticed. 

"You aren't mad?" She said with surprise and he pressed the book into her hands and shook his head.

"You think I don't know what you are like Arya Stark." He pressed his fingers to the side of her head. "You did not come to my chamber for sentimentality." 

"I did too." Arya shot back. "... Just not that alone." Her lips tilted up into a smile despite herself as did his. 

"Well I invite you to read it. Do not rip the pages." He gave her a pointed look. "It is old and precious and the Kindly Man must believe a man took it with him yes?"

She nodded. 

"Learn or disregard the stories and legends, take the information and exaggerations as you wish, but do not act upon any of your feelings. Do not strike up a conversation with anyone about dragons or worse magic." 

"I thought you knew me."

"I know you talk too much. Not an unpleasant trait but perhaps a bit incriminating no?" He smirked at her indigant expression. "Never mind, a girl will learn."

"A girl has already learnt lots of things." 

"Not enough. You may think so but there is still plenty. Now leave a man to change yes?"

She hesitated at the door. "Why did you give me the book? I was sure you would refuse, or steal it back if I'd stolen it..."

"You think you can steal from me?" He laughed.

"Yes!" She instantly lifted the book as a weapon, hastily clutching it to her chest when Jaqen gave her a filthy glare. "I nearly did." She declared. "You only came back at the wrong time."

"The right time I think." 

"Just so." Arya agreed with a sigh. 

"I gave you the book, because the words you said were true. I do not want to fight with you Arya Stark, when there is much important things to worry about. I did make a promise to you that I would teach you, and I find myself unable to physically, so take this book and learn from it and tell no one." 

"What is he planning?" Arya whispered. "What is it that has you suspicious of him so?"

"You have not know him for the long years I have." He told her. "A girl will see someday, or not." 

He shooed her away with a lazy hand and she finally left with a promise on her lips to never fight with Jaqen again... or maybe, if it got her what she wanted anyway. 

 She tiptoed into her chamber and placed the book on her bed, lighting a candle. The Citadel, and dragons and magic... it made her head hurt.  All she wanted was for things to be simple, to learn quickly and with haste go back to Westeros. But, she reflected miserably, her life hadn't been simple ever since her Father got his head chopped off. 

The Waif called her to dinner before she even managed to open the book, and she served everyone in silence. When the last acolyte had left the Kindly Man waved her forward.

"Sit child." 

She sat slowly, hesitantly, wondering what exactly his and Jaqen's history was. He rubbed his thumb over the mug in front of him and opened his mouth to speak, although she beat him to it.

"I was talking to Jaqen earlier-"

"I do not know a Jaqen."

She stared at him thoroughly irritated. _Why did he always lie?_

"Yes you do. He looks different now, he has curly black hair and a gold tooth instead of red hair with a white stripe like he did before. He said you two had known each other for years." 

"I have known many men for many years." He shrugged. "What of it?"

"How old is he?"

"Why does it interest you so young Cat?" 

She kept her face as expressionless as stone. "I merely wondered if you can look older or younger when you change a face. If I were to wear a middle-aged woman, would I look taller, more broader?" 

He nodded. "It is all part of the glamour."

"And when do I do glamour?" 

"Not now. Drink this, child." He pushed the mug towards her and she eyed it suspiciously.

"What is it?"

"To make you sleep peacefully. You have a busy day tomorrow."

"What am I doing tomorrow?" She asked, taking a gulp of the steaming drink. It was surprisingly bitter and she coughed, swallowing it all as the Kindly Man stared at her. 

"You shall see." He replied, giving her leave to go.

She chuntered at his annoying refusal to answer questions, so much like Jaqen although at least he was getting better. She stared at the place she'd hidden the book, resolving that on the morrow she would read it. She was too tired now, her eyeballs itching and begging to close her eyes, so she curled up on her bed and let the wolf overtake her immediately. The dream was so vivid, so much more than usual, and her breath rasped as she ran through the streets near the canal. Her head hurt, because she should be in Westeros staring at the early winter snows not stuck here in Braavos forever-

When she woke up the next morning she was blind. 

 


	10. Chapter 10

The world was invisible, and it terrified her more than anything she had encountered so far.

She thrashed about wildly as she choked for breath, the bed sheets getting tangled in her leg. She fell to the floor with a thud and lay winded for a few minutes before rolling onto her back. She gasped for breath, blinking rapidly to see if it were true and not just a nightmare. She waved her hands in front of her face and pinched her skin desperately to no avail. She was blind. Truly blind.

Hysteria threatened to overwhelm her, for if she was blind how was she ever going to defend herself? She shook and trembled, clutching her arms to her body and she wanted Jaqen-

On shaky feet she managed to stand upright but was completely disoriented. Her chamber was not too big, but even so... She took a tentative step forward, and another and another-

Her foot slammed against the wall and she winced painfully, reaching to massage her feet she was sure would be swollen on the morrow. Hands out trailing against the crooked stone wall, she carefully inched sideways. She knew she’d found the door when her touch turned into wood, and she fiddled with the latch awkwardly before opening it and stumbling out. Not that the outside of her room was any easier.

She stumbled down the corridor, tripping over constantly and scraping her knee, her chin. Blood oozed from her cut lip and her mind was dizzy with flashes of vibrant greens and a wolf she once knew named Nymeria howling, careening through endless dark woods-

She collided into someone and fell, but an arm shot out and held onto her.

“Jaqen?” Arya questioned warily, hands skirting up the arm holding her.

"Who else would it be?" His voice was a warm breath of air on her cheek and her hands move up curiously to his collarbone, neck, face. She frowned, not liking that she couldn't see him. He had sharp cheekbones, and stubble all along his chin, scratchy against her fingertips.

"What do my eyes look like?" Curiosity nagged at her and replaced the horror for a second. 

"Like snow clouds, a winter storm. I am surprised they blinded you so quickly.”

“They did this to you?” She asked desperately, and thought if he could endure it somehow so could she.

“Yes, as they do to every person training to be Faceless.”

"So you get your sight back?” She whispered still clinging to his face. Her hands bobbed gently up and down as he nods. 

“Yes.”

“When?” He shrugged, and he stroked her cheek with his thumb in comfort.

“A man does not know.”

She stopped straining for images she would not see then, and guiltily stopped panicking, annoyed with herself for being so weak. A pathetic child, almost sobbing in her terror. She was Arya Stark, from Winterfell with wolves blood.

_Fear cuts deeper than swords._

The old and oft used phrase drifted to her mind, and it was almost like her old dancing master was there beside her reminding, his voice liquid and calming her down.

“It is natural to be surprised at first.” Jaqen told her. “Even the most fearless person can be taken off-guard.”

Arya nodded, the reassurance that she was still brave warming her. He knew she liked to think of herself as impenetrable, so that being said when she was feeling ashamed for acting like the little girl she truly was made her feel better, but she was still blind. Hopelessly blind.

“What do I do now?” She mused, thinking she wouldn't be able to do anything without being able to see. She'd just have to stay in her bedchamber until the blindness passed. 

“Go about your normal duties of course.” Jaqen said, laughter in his voice.

It riled her and her hands gripped his cheeks tightly, nails gouging into his skin. She felt blood run through her fingers and he truly laughed then, lifting his hands off and holding her left aloft. His kiss was feather-light on her bloodied fingertip and she shivered. He could feel it she was sure, but she tugged away. 

She would not be laughed at. Without a word of departure she stormed off, feeling his eyes burning into her back. She didn't hear what he murmured when she left, but it's not like she cared when she couldn't see the expression on his face.

She wiped her fingers spotted with blood on her tunic.  _"A girl should be be bloody too. This is her work."_

All that time ago in Harrenhal felt like a lifetime ago. Weasel soup...

A smile flickered on her lips at the thought, and she trailed her hand along the wall again. She wasn't scared now, she'd show Jaqen how diligent she was, how much better she could work without her sight. Her habit of doing things to prove to others she could was rising in her however much she tried to batter it down. 

The Kindly Man taught her to be No One, but with Jaqen around how she could be anyone other than Arya Stark? Besides, she had to be Arya to go back to her Mother and Robb and them know her, had to be Arya to protect them and be the warrior sister of the King in the North. 

The wall opened out, the floor beneath  her turning to marble as the trickle of water was heard. The temple, and Arya cast her head around knowing the Kindly Man was near.

“You are no longer Cat of the Canals.”

His voice made her jump and she turned in the direction she thought he was speaking, but when he spoke once more it was from her other side. She was sure he'd moved, but hadn't hurt a sound.

She wasn't Cat of the Canals anymore he said, but she was still Arya Stark. She wasn't Cat of the Canals anymore, but she would miss Brusco and his daughters. Even if the work made her terribly tired, and even though she smelled of fish all the time she would miss them, and the streets and people of Braavos. 

“Who am I now?” She asked hesitantly. 

“A poor blind girl.” He sighed. “Who is a beggar.”

“I’m not a beggar.” She objected. “I-”

“Yes, you are a beggar now. A poor blind beggar." He tutted in pity and Arya gritted her teeth. 

"What must I do, as a beggar?"

"Beg, but even a blind beggar girl must have a name."

"Beth." Arya said. There was a Beth Cassel once at Winterfell, she recalled. Who knew what had happened to her? "Call me Beth."

"Very well Beth." She could almost see the smile the Kindly Man was directing at her. "Now go for lessons, and at dusk go about your home and uncover three things you do not know. You may find this useful." He pushed something into her hand and she felt it.  Wood, sturdy wood but thin and she gripped it tightly, tapping it around the floor cautiously.

"Perhaps at first...."

The Waif escorts her out, small hand curling around hers. 

"Count the steps." She warned her, and Beth did.

She did exactly what they said those first days, when she tripped constantly and scabbed her knees, cut her fingers with knives and made herself ill drinking the wrong potions. She enjoyed the poisons lessons true, she was doing more than she ever had as Cat and Arya Stark, but she yearned to see. 

She went about her routines slowly damaging her body more and more until she learnt to feel the air waves, taste them on the tip of the tongue and know who was coming towards her and when to move, where to pause exactly to escape damage. 

Jaqen taught her too, hands guiding hers when nobody was around, murmuring advice into her ear when he visited her chamber. 

"The book." Beth whispered to him one day. "What about the book?"

"A man doesn't know what book you talk of."  He stroked her bald head comfortingly, for they had cut her hair that terrible morning as beggars had lice, lots of them. Beth didn't mind; she couldn't see so why should she care? "A man has many books, and they are all in his possession."

She sagged against him in relief, for if the Kindly Man knew she had had it she would have been forced to leave she was sure. Jaqen too. She knew that was why she had been blinded, for taking that stupid book. Jaqen had told her he had been blinded but not as early, and she just knew that the reason why had been because she was about to read that book full of secrets and long forgotten folklore. 

"Tell me a story." Beth murmured to her friend another night. The bitter milk she'd drunk had almost made her vomit and retch, she had grown to loathe the drink so much. They were in her chamber, and he curled up on her bed next to her almost made it warm.  

"I do not know any stories."

"Liar." 

Jaqen sighed. "There was once a girl from a far away land..," His voice was lulling, comforting, and Beth turned into Arya in his company as she always did, laying on him lazily as he continued to talk. She liked to feel his chest moving up and down as he spoke, constant and never-ending.

"And she met a man, a strange one-"

"The strangest." Arya agreed with a smile, and she reached out to his face and traced the smile on his lips too. 

"And they went on many travels together." 

He fell silent, the scent of melting candles filling the air in the absence of his voice.  

"Is that the end?" Arya said dubiously, hand flicking out to shove him, force him to continue. She wanted to know what happened next.

"Of course it's not the end." He hummed, brushing her hand off and squeezing it. "Don't you know it's just the beginning?" 


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am SO sorry it has been so long since I updated. A combination of college work (mainly applying for University), attempting NaNoWriMo (which failed because of the whole college work thing) and writers block made this pretty hard to do but here's a chapter for Christmas and hopefully more updates soon!  
> Merry Christmas and enjoy... sort of enjoy this chapter!

 “-Stark.”

Blind Beth had nodded off, and Arya Stark automatically jerked her head up at the word, ears seeking  what her blind eyes could not. She was sprawled at the end of an alley, the wall cold against her back and feet damp. The scent of salt was in the air along with fish, and she could hear the sound of waves lapping against the port. She just couldn't _see,_ and anger made her bite her lip savagely. It was true, she was getting better but it had been days now, weeks perhaps. She had worked out that the drink she had each night was the cause and one night knocked it with her elbow. Glass had tinkled onto the floor, but the Kindly Man had merely given her another. A following night she had pretended she was not thirsty but that was a joke, the water they had left on her bedside in the night for when she was thirsty had only been the reapparance of the bitter juice.

"Everyone is talking about it. That, and King Joffrey. That lass Tyrell twice widowed-"

"Aye, if she was in my bed I'd be the one widowed she'd get such a good bedding!"

Racous laughter ensued and Arya scowled from the floor and craned her neck upwards to where the imprinted light behind her eyelids became muted with shadows; sillohettes of shapes that could be men.

"What are you talking about?" She rotated her head slowly from side to side waiting for a reply.

"Look at the little bitch." A man chuckled, and Arya grunted as a man kicked her leg. "Wanting to know about Kings and Queens across the sea."

"Well?" Arya said angrily, fingers trailing along her breeches to rub her aching leg she was sure would now bruise. "Is he dead? Joffrey?"

"Poisioned at his own Wedding." Another man told her, and as she hears liquid sloshing in a bottle she knows they are drunkards and probably lying. In fact, no probably about it. They were dunken fools looking to stir trouble with their ridicilous follies.

"And-" Arya swallowed a hopeful lump in her throat, fingernails digging into the soft flesh of her thighs. "Robb Stark? King of the North?"

"King of Nothing now. He got stabbed in the heart, clean through, and then the Freys got that beast wolf of his and sewed it onto his head-"

"No!" And before she knew what she doing she was lurching forwards, nails scrabbling across the ground and becoming encrusted with dirt as she staggered to her feet.

_How dare they laugh?!_

Feeling as drunk as them, disoriented as she turned back and forth with flashes of her Mother and Robb in her mind, vibrant memories from long ago and they could not be dead, it was absurd. She swallowed dryly, and she could feel her pupils twitching back and forth even though she could not see and wasn't that _queer-_

They could not be dead, because she was only here in Braavos to _protect_ them and she was too _late._ She was blind and homeless but she was doing it for them, for Mother and Robb, for them to win and go back home back to _Winterfell_ -

Arya let out a strangled wail of pain, greasy hair flopping limply in front of her face as she clutched at her throat. Struggling to breathe, the shock slamming into her middle and corroding her insides. Stomach writhing like worms and Arya shook her head back and forth, back and forth as nausea roiled in her-

"You're a liar." She snarled, voice thick and rasping with the anger that boiled in her veins.

 "They're calling it the Red Wedding - what do you care?"

She swung her leg back and kicked, careening into the nearest striking out like a wild cat. _Cat of the Canals after all, not Arya Stark-_

All skinny limbs and scratching nails, legs kicking wildly even as another set of hands easily drag her back. She growled, saliva flying from her mouth and she could not _see-_

Her hand lashed out and connected, a satisfying crunch beneath her fingers before swearing rebounded in her ears around her and the men hit her.

Winding her, unable to breathe, and as Arya fell to the floor a boot slammed into her stomach. Arya grunted, tears pooling in her unseeing eyes as her stomach throbbed. Sure to have a bruise in the morrow, and she winced as the men sauntered off.

"Little savage bitch."

Spit landed near her head and Arya hissed, jerking her head back as footsteps faded. Her knuckles stung and she knew they were swollen, blood trickling from the scrapes. Her nails jagged, half hanging off.

She had no desire to move now, laid breathing shallowly in the shadows of the Braavos street. Moonlight reflecting off the puddle nearby, and she could almost see in strange contorted images the skinny girl she was. Muddy and dirty, scary white eyes seeing nothing but everything. Tears that would not fall, stubbornly clinging to her eye sockets. Lips curled back in a defiant snarl even as they trembled. Hands curled up to twist around her knees, light tunic wet with sweat and rain.

Her Mother was dead. Robb too, who was King in the North. Dead. Pointless to even get up now, because the only reason Arya Stark had gone to Braavos with her friend was to learn to protect them from such fates. Stupid fates. Stupid, everything was stupid now. Stupid stupid _STUPID._

Now where was she to go?

Back to the House, her dull mind urged.

Back to Jaqen.

She pulled herself up gingerly, the mind numbing grief making her dizzy, walking around in circles before finally feeling the familiar door beneath her shaking fingers.

She remembered then, the few coins she had had thrown at her before, coins that were scattered in nooks and crannies now and would likely never be found again.

She had no desire to go back, would not go back. She wanted to sleep, be a wolf sprinting through the trees, feel blood on her tonge, such a careless life-

 “Lovely girl.”

It was his confused voice, and that alone which made the lump in her throat turn painful. Her breath caught in her throat and she gasped painfully, staring haggardly ahead with raindrops on her cheeks.

 “Lovely, little girl. _Arya._ What's wrong?"

She slammed forward and buried her head in his chest, a thunderstorm on her face and thunder rumbling in her throat.

"They're dead."

And saying the words out loud from her own lips made her admit the truth she knew deep down in her bones, and when she surrendered with a sob her friend, her only friend sighed and lifted her up into his arms.

Gentle fingers picking off her torn nails, scrubbing the blood off. Probing the swollen knuckles, combing through her hair in a familiar habit. Hands skirting her wet face, her cracked lips and shaking shoulders. Half bent in the pain that doubled her over, the hole gnawing at her insides where Robb and Mother and Father and Bran and Rickon resided. Only Jon left at the unreachable wall, Sansa in Kings Landing leading a life of luxury.

Her, across the Narrow Sea in Braavos training to be an assasian, an _asset_ to her brother. How she would have fought with Needle, but she did not have Needle and no longer had her brother-

She spluttered and choked for breath, wheezing in her desire to not show weakness. Failing drastically, lip bleeding from sharp teeth biting down. She knew the Faceless Men were outside her room, listening and judging silently. She knew she should stop crying like they wanted, like _she_ wanted, but she could not.

Grief twisted its knife in her gut and made her breathless, curled up in a tangle of limbs and blanket on her poor concrete bed. Back aching, nose stuffed. Cheeks feeling raw and puffed with the amount of tears trickling off her jawbone and dripping onto her ragged beggar clothes.

She could not tell how long she cried, only that after a while she became so determined to stop she jammed her aching hand in her mouth and _bit._ Blood saturated her mouth just like her wolf dreams, and it made her quieten.

A respite, while her mind sluggishly sifted through what was now a new reality. Shifting arrangements she had subconsciously made to head back home, back North to her Mother, to her brother's army. She was going to be his guard, his only Kingsguard and wouldn't he and Mother have been _proud?_ She was not like Sansa with her silks, but maybe Mother would have been proud of her all the same.

Now... now she was No One, in truth, with no family to protect or go back to, but even as she thought it denial came swift on her lips.

“They’re angry at me.” Arya stated quietly, staring up at where she imagined Jaqen stood in the corner. A respectful distance, keeping away private in her grief but knowing he was there all the same. 

“They know I’m Arya Stark.”

Her Father and Mother and Robb, Bran and little baby Rickon... _The pack dies but the lone wolf survives._

“And that is a bad thing?” Jaqen questioned, and she felt the weight of him next to her, the heat off his skin.

“You’re not supposed to say that.” Arya scratched, voice hoarse.  “I can never go home again.” She scrubbed at her useless eyes angrily.

 “Silly girl,” Jaqen murmured in her hair. “Your home is here. The Kindly Man will believe you eventually when you say you are No One.”

She nodded, clenching her jaw.

She would not cry now, not again. She would prove to the Kindly Man just how serious she took his training, however stupid.

Jaqen was wrong; her home was not here and it never would be. Her home is Winterfell, her blood Northern. She _will_ return to Westeros one day and kill all the people who murderered Robb. **_The Freys. The Lannisters. Queen Cersei. King Joffrey._** All of them and more...

Jaqen's arms encircled her hips, and she leant into his warm chest. He kissed her forehead puckered in concentration, her body shaking ever so slightly. She breathed in his familiar scent; a scent she couldn’t describe but was permanently fixed in her mind as a scent that provided comfort and help and safety.

Hair dishevelled she stared at him fiercely, and Jaqen draped a blanket over her scrawny shoulders.

“I’m going to kill them all.” She vowed, voice deep and menacing, and she knew who she was going to start with. 

* * *

 

Her bare feet were cold on the street, but noiseless. A wolf stalking up for the kill, and she could smell blood in the air. She hungered for it, her lips pulling back in eagerness. Chilly, in the night, the wind tugging at her hair and swirling around the gaps in her clothes as she walked the way Jaqen had told her to, whispering in her ear at dinner to meet her at the wolves hour at the harbour. Away from prying eyes, from the sparse drunks and whores that walk the streets in dark. Her lips tilted up into a bloodthirsty smile, revenge alighting her and warming her chest, her fingertips that itched for the knife.

“I killed one myself.” His mouth is suddenly at her ear, tickling, and his hands hot on her shoulders as she did not jump, somehow expecting it.

She clung to the tail of his robe as they walked forward in unision now.

“The lesser one. The cruder person, the one with no respect for the Gift I left for you.”

She whispered. “If the Kindly Man finds out-”

“He will not find out.” He stroked her hair like he has grown accustomed to, and she found herself anticipating the time he inevitably does with glee, for he cannot tame her, nobody can tame a direwolf.

“Where is he?” She asked, and guiding hands gently sent her in the right direction.

Her hands reached out blindly to feel a man who was not laughing anymore. He flinched as she touched him, and Jaqen pressed a metallic silver weapon into her hand. A dagger as thin as her little finger, the one that appeared from nowhere when she said his name in Harrenhal months ago, and her hands gripped it tightly.

Her fingers trailed upwards, feeling the rhythm of his gasping breath and the clack of his Adam’s apple as he swallowed, and her lips tilted up into a smile.

She plunged the dagger into his neck.

Hot blood sprayed across her cheek as she yanked the dagger out, blood pouring down over her hand as she stabbed again, and again and again-

The man dropped like a stone and she knelt down and felt the rapid puddle oozing across the floor, the sticky blood dripping through her fingers.

_Drip, Drip, Drip..._

She crouched there in the dirt, her glossed over eyes almost sure she could see the macabre scene from the cat crawling across a rooftop above.  The blood trickled over her hands, staining her knees the longer she sat there until he pulled her up and away. Jaqen had dispatched of the other man, she saw through slit cat eyes him rolling them into the canal, heard the splashes with her own ears.

“Valar Morghulis.” She spat hatefully, her mouth twisting around the words.

She heard the rustle as Jaqen slipped the murder weapon into his pocket. “Valar Dohaeris."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Blame GRRM for the heartbreak :'(


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for the comments, I was going to answer them when inspiration struck and I wrote this chapter so enjoy! :) xxx

Blind Beth was an expert at not caring. 

She skulked in back alleys and dark streets but there were too many whispers on too many lips to possibly kill all the people. She knew the Kindly Man was angry at her for killing the men who had told her about the Red Wedding and her family's fate, the men who had assulted her. The Gift is sacred, he had chatisied, and the Waif had slapped her fiercely on both cheeks drawing blood from her busted lip once more. 

She had stared expressionlessly straight forward, unsure if she was staring at them or not. She did not repence her crimes, would gladly kill the men ten times over, a hundred times again if it made her brother and Mother less dead. But it wouldn't, and she couldn't, so she said nothing and cared not at all. 

Jaqen was not punished, his act in the deeds unseen or perhaps unsuspected. Nevertheless he admitted his part in the killings, and the Waif did not hit him on both cheeks. The Kindly Man had surely shouted, she could hear faint words from her bedchamber, but she couldn't bring herself to care. 

She didn't care about the tasks she was ordered to do, the menial repetitive buisness of sitting on the floor for hours with her bottom numb and a scarse amount of coins in the upturned hat she used as a pocket for the coins recieved. A few pieces of gold rebounding off her forehead if a drunkard staggered her way, and she could hear the sympathetic coos of the courtesans as they hurried past and patted her head as if their touch could heal her. 

She blew out a long breath of air, and sloped the familiar route back to the House. The hole in her heart ached in tandem with her footsteps, and she was used to the pain truly. If a few tears leaked out in the solitutde, well that was to be expected. She reached out her mind in grief wishing she was asleep, half asleep already with her mind numb. She could  _see_ through slitted eyes of the cat that skulked nearby. A mewl, and it trotted around ankles  _her_ skinny ankles. So strange, how she was in reality a mute blind and in a second a cat, able to see, a life of delicate smells and night vision opening up to her. 

She could not even register surprise in her new state of half-being. She had figured out as much from the days and weeks earlier, discovering she could do it at will rather than when things were convinent was nothing too startling. 

She leant down to stroke the felines head and that was so  _bizarre,_ so disorienting. She shuddered as the cat scampered off into the dark and Arya opened the door of the House of Black and White. The dead annoyed her now, and she wanted so much to shake every person that collected a cup of poison or lay withering of self-inflicted wounds. You have every reason to live! She wanted to shriek. Your family aren't all dead! Mine are and I'm still here! 

Some days she thought revenge was not worth it, and she was glad to surrender to the blankness inside her eye sockets. The black never ending pit smothered her headaches, the sickness that gurgled in her stomach. Pain, the hole in her chest growing to infect her whole body. She needed no potion of the House, the potion was within her, she was the potion, the poison. 

 Other days revenge was the only thing that was clarity in her mind, a glass piercing through the soft woollen edges of her brain to nag and tear and force her to listen and think, think, think of a sword slipping through old Walder Freys brain, the blood coating her steel. The way he would beg and plead before her, and the things she would do to him if he dared to taunt-

Her hands gripped and clenched together as she sat down for her nightly meal.  

"Did you collect coins today?" He was there, Jaqen although she didn't know why she was surprised. Perhaps because he was inquiring about coins and not telling her stories or facts or kissing her forehead or cheek. 

"Yes." She said simply, the image of Freys being mauled by Nymeria playing on her mind with a savage burst of desire and need. "I don't know how many." 

"Shall we count?"

"I don't want to count coins." She crossed her arms in disgust, slouching in her seat so it dug in her back most uncomfortably. 

"Then I shall be happy to."

And she is so irritated, that he seems to be able to just forget about what has happened to her brother and Mother, forget the very reasoning behind the killings they commited together nights ago she kicks her foot against the table just to release the anger a shard. 

"You don't even care do you?" She said in disbelief. "You think because we killed those men that everything is okay." 

"Wh- no.  _No._ I do not think that all, I merely did not want to upset you-"

"I'm upset right now Jaqen. I was upset when I woke up this morning, I'll be upset when I go to sleep. And the next day I'll be the same, and the day after that, and the day after that and the day after that!"

"Then let me help you."

His hand was warm in hers, and she didn't have her family, so why should she have Jaqen? She deserved to be alone, after leaving her Mother and Robb to die a horrible death. She was as guilty as the people that stabbed his heart and slit her throat and the grief threatened to drown her so much the only way to survive is to let the tears fall from her eyes and push him away, away, because everyone she loves  _dies._

"I don't need your help!" She hissed, tugging her hand from his. "I don't need you. I don't need anyone." 

"Hmmm." 

"I mean it." She said stonily. 

"I know grief is a hard thing-"

And that is the only thing that registers in Arya's mind, stabbing painfully and  _twisting._

"What do you know of grief?" She yelled, slamming her hands on the table and standing up. The chair she was sat on screeched on the stone, and her fingernails gouged at the wood beneath her. "You kill people you don't know! You have no family!" 

"Just like you don't." He said, voice low and calm and she shudders with the rage and sadness building up inside of her always waiting to be unleashed. 

"You. Take. That. Back." She hissed, voice cracking. 

"It is a horrible thing, but it is the truth. You have no family Arya... but you have me. Everybody knows of grief, even a Faceless man such as I." 

They were quiet for a long time as she considered that, a man who gives death so readily understanding the emotions when the people you were closest to die. Because you will never see their faces again, or hear their voices, or feel their fingertips as they stroke your hair and their lips on your forehead as they kiss you goodnight. They are rotting beneath earth like they never existed, and only memories that fade remind people of their very existance. 

"Then you should know," Arya said thickly, regretting the words before they even left her lips. But it is like she is outside of her body broken down with grief and can only watch as she destroys the last good thing, the last thing grief could destroy. "That I want you to  _leave._ " 

She could feel the quiver of his breath stop as he took in her request. 

"Go to see your dragons at the Citadel. I don't need you." 

"If that is what you want." He said coolly, and he turned around and left, his footsteps ringing out behind him. 

 Arya slumped down tiredly, so exhausted. Her very bones were wrapped with chains, shackling her to the floor. So hard to move, so hard to even focus. A hole where her heart had been, making her brain confused. She barely had enough energy to limp to bed, and when she did she slept for hours, drowning in regret for the words she flung in anger and sorrow. 

She woke up at daybreak and rolled over, squeezing her eyes shut to avoid the duties of the day and instead be a wolf.

An animal with no room in the brain for grief. Nothing except food, and running free.The grass wet beneath her feet, a breeze ruffling her fur. She could run for miles in this body, her long limbs specialised for it. Tongue lolling out of her mouth as her pack followed at her heels, and she was not alone, she had a family. She nipped at their legs playfully and they howled with happiness; when they ventured across deer she led the attack. They had a feast, and she was the Queen. Blood hot and thick running from her mouth, and her bladder fit to burst she sniffed at the nearest male. Wondered if maybe she would take him to mate-

Arya shifted awake and knew from the ache in her back and belly it had been hours she had laid there awake, hours since she had eaten. 

It was horrible for them to give her sight back the night when Jaqen was leaving. 

 The arrangements were quick, the Kindly Man told her and he does not fool her for she can tell the underlying messages of sentences now and knows he is pleased. Pleased they will be apart and Jaqen is going on his mission.

Perhaps that is why he gave her her sight back. A swallow of a drink as thick as honey and burning her insides she choked down. 

When the film covering her eyes slowly peeled away and the light almost blinded her for the first time her heart slightly lifted. She was ready to find Jaqen and tell him when she crashed down with sudden realisation that he was leaving and all because of her and the stuff she had said and she hadn't meant it not  _truly-_

She poked at the food on her plate, and the Kindly Man told her how she would get her first assignment tomorrow to kill a greedy man, something vague she didn't truly listen to. 

"Has he already left?"

"Who?"

"No One." She muttered, fork shaky in her grasp before she gave up trying to eat and stalked off, yanking the front doors open and running down the steps as fast as she could, and she could run so quicker now she was blind-

She had to apologise and tell him her sight was back, that she knew she was being so awful but the sadness was turning everything she loved to mould beneath her fingertips, unusable and useless and irrepairably destroyed. 

She shoved past people, wheedling in between others and hair whipping her face, as she looked back and forth for any familiar sight. Overwhelmed by all the new sights again, and she turned around on the spot disoriented before entering the fray again. 

She arrived at the harbour and staggered to a halt, rasping for breath in her haste and eyes only focused on the ship metres out, sails cast for a good voyage.

She had missed him.

He had gone. She was too late, just like she was to go back and protect her Mother and Robb, and a tearful sob ripped open her chest and weeped. The cold shell that had started to crack around her heart instantly sealed, not letting any cracks through this time. Why on earth would Jaqen ever stay anyway? She kicked a stone with her foot. She shouted at him to leave and of course he would listen.

"You can see." 

Her breath caught in her throat and she whirled around.

"Jaqen." She breathed wide-eyed. "Yes." 

She wanted to stare at his face for hours to savour every pore. Too long, she thought greedily, too long since she had seen this face. Hearing his voice had not been enough, feeling his gentle touch when he could not see the look in his eye or the smile on his lips-

"I'm sorry." She blurted. "I'm so sorry. Stupid, too. I shouldn't have said what I did, I didn't mean it. Truly." 

"I know." He smiled and there was sympathy in that smile and Arya tensed waiting for the blow of pain. "But you were right." 

"No-" She opened her mouth to protest but he hastened to quieten her, a finger on her lips. She loved the feeling so much, the mere act of seeing it, that she stayed quiet. His dark eyes glittered with amusement, like tiny diamonds amongst shiny dragonstone that she had to seek and she stared up at him dizzingly. 

"I did not lose my family like you did. Nothing could compare to your brothers end and for that I am deeply sorry. But I am still going." 

"No." The words tumbled from her lips automatically and Jaqen bit back a smile. "Jaqen please. I didn't mean it." Tears welled up in her eyes. "You know I didn't."

"I would stay if I could, you know I wouldn't leave even if you meant what you said, but the Kindly Man is angry that I brought you here personally. He wanted me to go somewhere else, he has for a while now, and I was supposed to go before I brought you here. Now... now I need to go. Truly, this time."

"Who do you need to kill?" Arya sniffed.

"No one of importance. Remember that book?" He murmured and she nodded. 

"Something to do with that. That is all I can say except I shall be back soon. I can promise you that, Blind Beth, No One, Arya Stark. On the old gods and the new, I will come back to you." 

"You better." She said fiercely. "Or I'll find you." 

He smiled, and she can feel his breath on her cheek. "We wouldn't want that." 

He leaned in closer, and she thought for one second that he was going to  _kiss_ her, properly, and not on the forehead like all the times before. She rose up on the tip of her toes automatically, feeling heat rush all over her face-

Instead he pressed something into her hands, something cold and heavy. She blinked, jarred out of her daze and looked down into her hands. She ran a fat thumb over the carving, fingers slipping down to the narrow end in admiration. 

A sword.

She stared up at him with a delighted smile, half-gasping in pleasure. The fog from her mind receded just an inch to make a golden sun burn joyously, hot with promised revenge. The sprees she could go on with this, all the men who had slain her lady Mother and Robb, Joffrey and the  _list._ How could she forget the  _list?_

_Dunsen, Polliver, Raff the Sweetling, The Tickler and The Hound. Ser Gregor, Ser Amory, Ser Ilyn, Ser Meryn, Queen Cersei._

"I thought you would cherish a new sword." Jaqen's words were soft as silk and she nodded, head bobbing around weakly. "i know how much you miss your Needle. But No One does not tell a Kindly Man yes?"

She nodded again, brunette locks streaming past her face in the breeze as she lurched forward to hug him, sword flinging behind her. He was so warm and familar and she pressed her face against his chest and with a bitter sob remembered her last meeting with Jon before he left never to return. But Jaqen would return she was sure of it, so when Jaqen stroked her back before letting her go she straightened up and cleared her throat. 

"A sword needs a name." He reminded her, and she bit her lip in consideration. 

"Think on it. Tell me when I return." He suggested, and his finger gently traced her cheek before tilting her chin up, cupping her face with warm hands. "Goodbye." 

"Goodbye." She breathed, and he seemed to hesitate a moment before pressing his lips against her forehead and- Arya bumped up against him and their lips brushed for a second. 

A good second, Arya thought dimly afterwards, as Jaqen had promised to send her a letter if he could. She stood there for a long while afterwards, listening to the water lap against the wall, watching him board and wave from the dock. A laugh tried to come from her lips but failed, and they trembled instead.

She stood vigil until the figure on the ship was a mere dot on the horizon, and she stared down at the gift in her hand as she scrubbed away tears that fell all too often lately with the thunderclouds that rolled in as soon as the thought of her lips brushing his had disappeared. 

Her hands tightened around the sword, and as she thought back on the crimes that had killed her family and driven her and Jaqen apart she knew the perfect name. 

"Revenge." She whispered, for that is what she would use it for. 


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Nothing really happens in this chapter... sorry.

 

She danced, hopping from one foot to the other revelling in the beautiful sight of a sword slashing through the air, her sword. Needle may be gone for the present, but Revenge felt comfortable in her hand. She span around on the spot, dust floating up from the ground her ragged shoes scuffed. A soft smile twitched on her lips for a brief second before she remembered her family were dead and Jaqen was gone. 

She sighed and ran her hands down the shiny blade compulsively, compelled to touch it and make sure it was still real and not a wistful fantasy in the dark recess of her mind. The sword was well-made, slender but sturdy. Bigger than Needle, the pommel of the hilt ingraved with spirals and gilt gold that glittered. Expensive, it must have been. Either Jaqen had enough to pay for his own sword especially for her, or more likely he'd stolen it from a rich braavosi he killed. 

She twisted on the heel of her foot, movements supple and graceful. A Water-dancer, and she wondered for a striking thought where Syrio had lived in Braavos. Perhaps this was his deserted courtyard she practised in now...  _Swift as a deer..._ The end of the sword poked lightly at the brick wall before swiping to cut the vines of ivy. No trees grew in Braavos but there was an abundance of plants where it was nobodies job to cut them. She beheaded the plants easily, and when she was slick with sweat she hid the sword away.

Squirrelled under a small stone in an abandoned garden tucked in a side street. Arya saw nobody in these parts so was quite comfortable to leave it there tucked away, and the cats that prowled the area were a great deterrent. The ginger tomcat that was her usual companion purred at her touch, licking its paw before hopping onto the wall to laze in the late afternoon sun. Arya leant back against the crumbling stone wall and closed her eyes. She was supposed to be watching an old insurance man her first assigment. She was to kill him and figure out a way, but she figured there was no harm in pondering that while practising her fighting.

Not that she could kill him with a sword, it would be far too obvious for the Kindly Man's liking even if she was wearing a different face. She wondered when she would get a different face. Soon, she hoped. The quicker she got killing people the quicker she could hone her talents and go back across the sea to Westeros with her list.

" _Dunsen, Raff the Sweetling, The Tickler and The Hound. Ser Gregor, Ser Amory, Ser Ilyn, Ser Meryn, Queen Cersei. The Freys_." She whispered under her breath, lips trembling as she said the words again louder. "Dunsen, Raff the Sweetling, The Tickler and The Hound. Ser Gregor, Ser Amory, Ser Ilyn, Ser Meryn, Queen Cersei. The Freys."

Her lips spat out the syllables, names creating a pact she swore to never break. She would hunt them down every single one and kill them personally. Her old nemesis Joffrey was dead, but Arya could not find any delight in that. She would not stop grieving for her families death until Revenge was stuck through the skull of the men who killed her brother and her Mother. She suspected she would not stop grieving even then, but she couldn't concern herself with what would happen after that. She had to focus on the present, and how she was to kill the insurance man.

Too tired to think analytically about a way to bring death subtly, Arya's eyelids stubbornly drooped despite her weak protests, and she fell asleep sprawled in the hidden courtyard quite alone. 

She awoke with a gasp, lurching upwards with the taste of blood in her mouth and the memory of Jaqen's lips on hers. Arya blinked disorientedly, the sky now dark and stars twinkling. The moon was bright, and the cats eyes around her glowed. They had gathered and converged around her as she'd slept and now she shooed them off rather fondly except the ginger one. His hair was rather like her Mother and Robb's had been, and Sansa and Bran and Rickon. He could stay, and she scratched him behind the ears as she smothered a yawn with the back of one hand. She had no specific time she had to be back at the House, and she had reached her favourite part of the day; reading her letter.

It had been three months since he left, and while she spent most of her time learning potions and poisons and ways to kill without a trace he did his secret missions, and in his spare moments wrote letters. He always included something. A feather plucked from a sleek black crow, although that reminded her of Jon too much for it to be happy. A small map that was the size of her finger to her delight, and she would spend hours a night squinting at the tiny text to read the places. She had crumpled the letter in her pocket as she'd slept, and she smoothed it out and shook the piece of folded parchement. There was something in there alright, and Arya felt a smile flicker on her lips. She had never been written to, and rarely given gifts except Needle from Jon. Jon. Her heart ached and she ripped open the wax seal and out fell a small ribbon. A red ribbon with a chain on, and that had made her mouth drop for it looked so much like Maester Luwin's. She tried feebly to recall what iron was. She would have to search it, she determined, or ask him in his next letter. She knew he was at the Citadel, and she wondered if he was somehow earning Maester links whilst there. 

She turned to the letter eagerly.

_Arya,_

_I do hope you like your present. I haven't had much time to leave where I am stationed, so I had to be inventive. Nobody harbours any suspicion for Pate the pig boy, and I doubt they should count each link so meticulously. How is your training coming along? I know I say this every letter, but as you have no way of writing back I have no way of knowing what on earth you are up to. You know a girl sometimes does not do her duties. I know you Arya Stark, and you must **focus.**_

Arya rolled her eyes and pulled a face. The end word was indented permanantly on the paper, underlined and bolded. 

_There is a new man named Samwell Tarly, from the Nightswatch who tells tales about his personal friend and Lord Commander Jon Snow, most recognised as Eddard Stark's bastard-_

Arya stopped them unable to read more, hugging the creased paper to her chest and imagining it was the phantom body of Jon.  _JonJonJon._ And she wanted to see him so bad, the only one of her family who was left, and she could take a ship right now couldn't she? Board it to Westeros and make the long trek up North, back home. But... Jaqen sent her letters here, and if she left and he returned he would be sorely disappointed - at least she'd like to think so.

He would guess within a second where she would have gone but still... She had to hone her skills, and when she was just like him able to kill whichever person dared to try and harm her and more, she would go back. With Jaqen, when he returned too. She was not letting him leave again, not like all the others; Gendry, Hot Pie all those she had met with Yoren and even before in Kings Landing like Syrio... She had a friend who could defeat Death and she was not letting him slip through her fingers like everyone else. Next time he had a mission she could go with him, with a different face and name, or mayhaps they could have different people to kill but meet up anyway on the nights. The thought made her tingle with happiness, an urge for the days to go faster, the moons pass quicker. She would be older and know everything there was to know about giving a stranger the Gift. Her victims lulled into a sense of security before she struck like a wolf- Her mouth watered with the copper tinge of blood she had grown used to, and she shook her head from thoughts of her once wolf Nymeria, and refocused on the letter.

_I thought you would like to hear that considering the recent events with your family. A man will enquire more about that for you. I have found out many things of great importance I will share later, but I must go now. Pate the pig boy spends enough times with ravens as it is. I have much and many things to tell you, but I shall keep these to myself until we meet again, for I am sure you have tales of your own to delight me with. Keep safe and practise, and do as the Kindly Man says. We may not like him but he is a wise man and ~~most of the time~~ knows what is best, especially for someone as young as yourself. Forgive me, this is not a long letter like the last, but I am so engrossed in my job I find I have scarsely enough time to eat and bathe never mind sleep. Rest assured I have not forgotten about you and your tenacity to prove me wrong, so I will be back as soon as I can be expecting you to be almost trained, especially with your new sword. _

_Yours always,_

_Jaqen_

_  
_To be true it was a small letter, in his scrawled writing she had come to know so familiarly, but she would cherish it like the others she kept under her pillow for safe-keeping. Reading his letters, it was like he was still there. She could imagine him saying the words in that husky tone of his that did not change despite the face, and when her fingers traced the letters across the page she wondered how he was so literate with his words, so refined. She ached to know more of his past, his childhood, what had turned him to the place he had took her to. Surely not the events she had witnessed, but something similar. It must have been, for any man to walk into that place and train to kill others. Arya smiled proudly  at the place where Revenge was hidden, and excitement fizzed in her stomach at the thought of Jaqen seeing her water-dance with it. Perhaps he had a list from long ago with names. If he did she would gladly assist him.

She stashed the letter in her pocket, languidly getting to her feet and walking across the cracked stone of the courtyard.

She clambered up the wall, and nimbly balancing across the ivy covered bricks she walked across made her stomach twist with the memory of her brother Bran. Bran, who had been almost killed by the Lannisters. Queen Cersei... Her knuckles tightened at her side as she reached the end of the wall and hopped down before walking down the alley that led to her secret place.  

Arya was never one for sentimentality, but when she reached her small room in the House of Black and White she tied the small trinklet he had given her around her wrist all the same, holding it aloft to admire it.  The Maester's link was like a ring. A... a commitment. To friendship.

A promise that he had not forgotten her, that she was still in his thoughts just as he was in hers.


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry it's been so long since the last update but loads of stressful stuff has happened since then with my family, and then when I'd almost finished the chapter George released a new Arya chapter from the Winds of Winter so I changed it to fit with that. So sorry for the wait, but I've finished college now, the stressful situations are hopefully going to get a lot better soon and know where the plot of this is going so regular updates should resume :) Thank you for all the messages saying how much you love the story, as it really helped me write this :)

Mercy was dead and gone, her giggles distant echoes but her successor still lovingly recalled the sight of her victim bleeding out like a pig before her. Ooh how her arms had ached as she’d rolled and dragged him down the stairs and kicked him into the canal to never been seen again, the black ripples hiding his very existence. Arya Stark had come out to play to Mercy’s delight, and as she skipped back to her shabby room with the blood soaked floorboards she gave not a fleeting thought to what a Kindly Man would say, how the Sealord of Braavos would be terribly troubled.

Mercy had had to die because of that, but Faith was all too happy to take her place.  

Faith was a dour faced perfectionist, stern with her penance and icy cold with her punishment. A vigorous righter of wrongs, passionately in love with the faith whose fate she was aligned with.  Her God had many faces and she was his mortal representative, stalking the streets at night with a name on her lips and a death to follow. She stank of the putrefying scent of flesh, whiffs of copper blood swirling around her ankles, but she welcomed its presence around her, on the very pores of her skin for they were old friends and recent lovers. Faith’s upper lip twisted into a wolf’s snarl as she spotted her destination, blending into the shadows she was half made of.

She peered through the window and saw the unmoving lump in the bed. Easy, pathetically so, and she wanted a _challenge._ She rolled fluently on the balls of her feet before jumping, sliding without a sound to press her back against the wall of the house that had seen better days. The target went on snoring, and Faith stalked forward eyes narrowed, the taste of blood thick and heady on her tongue. She straddled the man for a moment contemplatively, lithe thighs barely indenting the sagging bed as she stroked the tassels of a pillow clearly stolen before pressing it over his face. The victim jerked and Faith pressed down harder, and his body writhed underneath her, eyes popping open and arms flinging out with a futile attempt to grab her.

He deserved to die. He wasn’t a good man, Faith had watched him rape and beat the poor girls, the poor girls who had come to the Temple with broken bodies and dead eyes and asked them to deliver the gift. A girl, they had said. A beautiful but cold girl, and they had smiled then with beautiful bloodlust thrumming in their smiles.

Faith had been picked, and Faith was a _perfectionist._

Until the man’s fat fingers groped at her skin and shoved, and Faith tumbled to the floor momentarily stunned.

She stared up at the huge fat creature writhing above her, sucking in lungfuls of air with watery eyes and fisted hands, and rolled onto her feet once more. Every muscle tense, ready to move. He shifted his weight and she hers, and they stood watching each other.

His brow furrowed, his mouth opened to ask a question she wouldn’t answer, and Faith wheeled around with a snarl for the door. Just as she predicted his heavy hand clamped down on her pointed shoulder and twisted her. Faith looked up guileless, a rabbit staring down an arrowhead, and the man dragged her close-

She slithered from his grasp in one smooth undiluted movement and his curses rang through the household like war cries, and they danced together in time. Co-ordinated, but he was clumsy and careless in his need to extinguish her solo, and she swerved and dipped around the house with no thoughts in her mind except the rattle of her breath in her windpipe and the cold floor on her bare feet, and through the window moonlight illuminated his heavy jowls and wide set eyes, his paunch and ripples of fat grotesque as his face twisted with anger at his wilful prize.

Faith smiled with her eyes, cold eyes, eyes that were a dispassionate observer in their battle. Eyes that watched with the faintest boredom and the hasty need to get the job finished before someone nearby heard.  Faith swung her hips sinfully as she ventured into shadows, and the man followed with lust, licking dry lips in the anticipation-

And he stepped right into the rope she’d prepared earlier. His body swung up to the rafters and the wood creaked, his legs kicking out, and Faith stared up with a smile at the hanging man with his neck bulging against the noose. Suicide was a foolish and weak man’s way out, a _stupid-_ Faith shook her head to stop the thoughts of a girl long ago, and watched her work with a critical eye and pursed lips until the man was merely a corpse.

Faith stares at the unseeing eyes glazed over, the veins sticking out under his blue skin, and wonders as she slips outside who will be the first to loosen their lips come morning and start the inevitable gossip. Strange, but not suspicious, because after all Faith was a perfectionist.

Faith had stopped counting the moons she had stayed in the temple, stayed without a letter, and the thoughts of a girl named Arya were more distant every day, the revenge she vowed still strong but unable to find its target in this city with the ever-watching Faceless. She spent days being taught by the Waif, refining her skills, and although she was nowhere near finished in her service she had more skills in the art of murder than any man in Westeros. She needed to leave, she wanted to leave, but Faith was a dour faced perfectionist, and Faith stayed and never strayed.

Faith sighed, trailing back the familiar route to her temple and pondered getting the next ship to Westeros like she had almost every night. She liked giving the Gift to wicked men, to let the people who harmed others feel the same before they died, and Faith… Faith had nowhere else to go in the world.

She gave up the thought like she knew she would, and tutted under her breath with stern rebuke, the cowl over her head fluttering in the slight breeze making her way slowly, so slowly…

She whipped around, a slim sword suddenly in her hands before her.

They stared at each other, and Faith squinted uncertainly at the boy before her. Lean and pasty with a face one could call pig like.  The moonlight spilling onto him only emphasized his bland looks. Not particularly tall, but taller then her. Unremarkable and plain, with a few spots on his forehead, his clothes loose fitting, hanging off his pinched shoulders. Light eyes, pale and watering and slightly protruding. Hair the undeciding shade between blonde and brown, like the boy himself was afraid to commit to anything. 

She had never seen him before, and he certainly never her, and they stood for a suspended moment in time taking the other in.

Faith furrowed her eyebrows together and lifted her sword higher wondering who would be so reckless to approach her. The boy leaned closer, trailing one fat finger along the carvings so delicately it made her shudder.

“A nice sword. What is it's name?” His eyes looking up with an expectant glint, one hand going without fear to knock her hood down as if to confirm. Her hair was shiny onyx in colour, tied so tight in rigid braids her scalp ached. 

"Revenge."  

And Arya sheathed her sword and wrapped her arms around him.

“I missed you.” She said, voice muffled as she attuned herself to the steady beat of his heart. “You were gone ages. Did you get that book?”

"I missed you too, lovely girl." Jaqen played with a lock of her hair. "There were some complications.. but your sword has a grand name. I presume a girl has been practicing well and often?" 

"Of course." Arya said affronted, tilting her head up to look at him. 

Jaqen smiled, white lips stretching up into a bland smile. She decided she didn't like this face, preferred the black curls of the one before, or his first face with the red hair and white stripe. The Jaqen she had first met him as. Still, it did not matter truly. 

Arya stepped back and put a hand on the hilt of the slim sword hanging at her hip and Jaqen nodded in approval. 

“Have you heard I’m married?”  She blurted it out before she could stop, biting her lip hard to stop the betraying words slip out again. She wasn’t Arya Stark, she was Faith, Faith. **Faith.**

“Arya is married.” She rephrased as they walked side by side back to the House. They walked across the harbor and stopped at the water's edge, the water black and reflecting the stars above. Arya knew with a wolves vision she would be able to see the fish that swum between roots growing amongst the cracks in the seabed below. 

Jaqen leant on the side of the bridge next to the pair, staring out across the sea. "Who is the lucky husband?"

"I don't know." Arya frowned, eyes flitting to the ship she had looked at every day and thought of Westeros. She could just walk up and in a moons turn she would be back in Westeros, and she could find the people on her list and cross them out. She could go to her brother at the Wall, like the sailor who brought her to Braavos had denied her. A sudden sharp pain of longing pierced her chest and she sighed mournfully fingers brushing over her sword.  _Revenge._

_Dunsen, Polliver, The Tickler and The Hound. Ser Gregor, Ser Amory, Ser Ilyn, Ser Meryn, Queen Cersei._

Faith had lost her whole family, she had truly paid the price, and now she had to give them the Gift. Sadness made a lump in her throat, but Faith did not cry. Not anymore. Faith had no brother, or Mother, or Father. She didn't even have a friend in the Faceless Man Jaqen. And she was Faith, not Arya of House Stark-

“We could take a ship, back to Westeros and find out.” Arya finally gave voice to her thoughts, turning to her friend. 

"You could." Jaqen agreed neutrally. "But you think they will let you go, a little girl that knows all their secrets?” Jaqen put his hands on her arms, piggy eyes boring into her.

"You can come too." Arya added quickly. "With me. We can find them together. And I I can come back to the House of Black and White one day and learn everything. Or you could teach me." She added desperately. "I don't want to waste my time killing men I don't know." 

She wants... she wants so many things. To go home, to Winterfell, to see Sansa and her brothers and parents even though most were nothing but dust in the ground now. She wants to feel safe, and she feels safe by Jaqen's side. She wants to see who this 'Arya' is and make her relinquish her title, for this faceless woman was not her truly and did not have the right to marry without her permission. She wants to kill the people who hurt her family. 

"You promised you would help me, and you have. You brought me here, you helped me train. Now help me get back home and do what I came here for." She looked up at him with grey eyes, sharp as Valyrian steel. 

And Jaqen sighed, giving in like she knew he would. Perhaps deep down the man who was Faceless was remembering his own family and his own words he had spoken to the girl long ago. 

And so they interlock hands, and disappear into the night.

 


End file.
